


Transtitional Stages

by VtheHappyLurker



Series: Accelerated Changes [2]
Category: Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers (Marvel Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dramedy, Fridge Horror, Holoform(s), M/M, Multi, Obscure Characters, POV Multiple, Romantic Comedy, Teen Angst, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VtheHappyLurker/pseuds/VtheHappyLurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins with a boy, his car, and simple request: "Why don't you let me drive?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage 01-01: Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> [Extra A/N: Setting is a grab-bag of the G1 cartoon, the Marvel comics, the tech specs, and whatever amusing or interesting bits I’ve gleaned from the TF wiki. The author would like the state now that she’s mainly sticking with the G1 animated canon for much of the character personalities and for the overall tone of this and other stories. Some events have been moved around in the timeline to make for a more coherent narrative or just because it seemed more interesting story-wise. In other words, expect this to be cracktastically campy and repeat to yourself it’s just a fan-fic, you should really just relax.]

~~~

“Please?” Raoul whined. “Just one weekend? Come on, man! I’m beggin’, here!”

There was a sighing rumble from Tracks, weary from almost an hour's worth of teenaged whimpering. “What could _possibly_ be so important that we have to drive all the way out to the country for?”

“It’s the Albany-Saratoga qualifiers are starting soon and for the first time in my life, I actually got myself a set of wheels that I can enter into the Mini Stock race!”

“You mean _I_ have a decent set of wheels,” corrected the Corvette haughtily. “And I hardly think it be fair for the other participants to have compete against _me._ Did you know that I happen to be a five-time champion of the Iacon 700?”

“Who said _you’d_ be driving?!” groused the boy, conveniently ignoring Tracks’ boasting. “I ain’t the most honest guy in the world, but I ain’t a _cheater_. I’m gonna be the one running the race, thank you!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Aw, come on, Tracks!” came the growl. “Would it kill you to let me drive?”

“I’d rather not find out, thank you.”

Raoul glared at the dashboard. “What the hell, man? You’re acting like I’m gonna go demolition derby or somethin’!”

The Corvette sighed again. “Look, I sure you’re an excellent driver…”

“Then how come you never let me drive?” snapped the boy.

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself, Raoul. Comes with _being_ a vehicle and all, you know.”

“So what am I to you then? Just a dummy to fill up your seats?”

“Of course not!” gasped Tracks. “You happen to be one of my closet friends!”

“Then just let me have you all to myself for just one weekend, please?” he purred, stroking a hand across the dashboard. “Just give me one little, teeny-tiny weekend of you acting like a normal sports car. If you do, I swear to God I’ll do whatever you want for a whole _month_! You wanna have Sinatra and all that crap on the radio? Then you got it! How about me makin’ polish and wax runs without a bit of bitching? Done! You name it, I’ll do it! I’ll do _anything_ just to take you to the race!”

“Would you go with me to the opera?” asked the Corvette after a moment’s silence.

“…uh, sure! Dunno how I’m gonna get tickets… or fit you in to the Met…”

“Don’t worry about that. Now, do we have a deal? I’ll allow you to…to _use_ me,” Tracks mentally cringed at the thought of being treated like a mere _product_. “I’ll behave just like a…a…stock model for an entire weekend if you promise to attend the opera with me. Oh, and not change the radio stations for a month.”

“Deal!” Raoul enthusiastically and awkwardly hugged the steering column. “I promise that this is gonna be a blast, man!”

~~~

The weekend of the qualifiers came sooner than Tracks would’ve liked, but he’d managed to wrest a few days worth of leave despite Prowl’s grumblings. What had been even worse was that to even be eligible to enter, he had to subspace all the trim in his interior save for the driver’s seat and have a number painted on him. These and other little details, like being loaded onto a trailer or the fact that they would be racing on a _dirt track_ , were particularly unbearable. Even the appreciative stares and compliments lavished on him at the track were unable to sooth his aching ego. To top it all off, Raoul didn’t even make it to the second round of qualifiers! But a promise was a promise, so Tracks endeared it all without even a grumble though he didn’t share his young friend’s almost infectious good cheer. Finally, they returned to the city and the mercifully vacant garage Raoul worked at late Sunday afternoon.

“Told ya’ it’d be a blast!” crowed Raoul as he hopped out and move to the far side of the garage. He rummaged around, chattering giddily. “Did you see the way the guys were looking at you? Man, if there was a prize for Most Beautiful Car in the Galaxy, you’d have won it a million times over!”

“I’m deeply flattered,” Tracks murmured lamely as un-subspaced his interior, doing his best to at least make himself somewhat presentable. “But right now, the Most Beautiful Car in the Galaxy would like to go and give himself a very, very thorough washing, so if you don’t mind—”

“Hold up!” Raoul sat a pair of buckets down next to the Corvette with a rather devilish smirk. “I’ve got you for the weekend, remember? So you ain’t going nowhere till tomorrow.”

“But the race is over and you’ve made your point. You don’t need to bother yourself with giving me a wash…” he demurred sweetly.

Pulling over a small high pressure washer, Raul gave him a broad grin. “Oh, but I must! I must! Think of it as my way of saying ‘thanks’.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I simply must refuse. You see, I have a rather unique condition…” He hesitated, doing his best to think of a way to word his ‘condition’ delicately. “The tactile sensors on my surface are rather…sensitive and require an exceptionally delicate touch otherwise I get a bit…overwhelmed, you might say.”

“Then I swear be a gentle as a lamb!” he chuckled, rolling his eyes at Tracks sudden coyness as he raised the spray wand. “Now, just relax.”

Before the Corvette could protest further, a blast of cool water splashed over his roof causing him to bite back a yelp. The spray moved teasingly over his windshield and sides as Raoul rinsed off the dirt, paying special attention to the nooks and crannies with such care that it left Tracks whimpering softly.

“You okay there, big guy?” asked the boy, setting down the wand to fish a sponge out of a bucket.

“Fine!” Tracks gasped, barely hiding the arousal in his tone as Raoul began washing him from the top down.

Raoul gave him a funny look, but continued to work his way around to the Corvette’s trunk and back to the front. It was only when he started washing Tracks’ hood that Raoul noticed how each stroke of the sponge made his otherworldly friend tremble. He could feel the heat raising as he drew the sponge across the metal. Emboldened by the reactions he was getting, Raoul leaned in closer until his body was pressing against the front fender and grinding a bit as he work back and forth.

The effect this rather more provocative attention was having on Tracks was exhilarating, but he was too proud to let more than a faint whine escape. But that only caused the boy to push further, rubbing the sponge into the seam between the hood and the windshield. There wasn’t anymore pretext of this being just an innocent cleaning now. Raoul humped against the fender and his fingers making a desperate scramble into Tracks’ grill as he returned the favor by revving his engines hard, causing them both to shudder. It was hard to say who climaxed first, but they each hit a peak with harsh growls and moans before lapsing into an awkward post-coital silence.

For a long time, Raoul laid against Tracks’ hood. Then he pushed himself off the Corvette and, grabbing up the spray wand, wordlessly rinsed Tracks off. He turned to pick up a chamois, paused, and glanced over at the Corvette.

“You don’t mind if I let you air dry? I’m…I’m feeling kind of beat.”

“It’s…fine.” Tracks shifted uncomfortably, his normal elegance lost. After a brief pause, he asked quietly, “You want me to give you a ride home?”

“Uh, that’s okay.” The boy twisted the chamois in his hands. “It ain’t too far of a walk and I… I need the exercise.”

“You’re soaked. I think it’d be best if you let me take you home.”

Raoul shrugged the offer off. “Hey, don’t worry about me big guy. And I’m sor-… I’m fine. I just… need a moment to myself, you know?”

“Of course…” There was a sad little rasp from the Corvette. When he spoke again, Tracks’ tone was stiff and rather chilly. “Have a good night then and I’ll see you later.”

“Right. Night, big guy.” With that, Raoul scurried out of the garage and out into the muggy twilight.


	2. Stage 01-02: Casuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting attacked by Buzzsaw the shrieking metal death-bird, Raoul finds himself in the protective custody of Tracks.

  
_~~ New York, 1987_

As he lay on the hospital bed staring up at the ceiling tiles, Raoul consoled himself with the knowledge that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Yeah, it was one damn heroic moment when he jumped Soundwave’s heavy metal pigeon to save Steeljaw from getting pecked to death. He just made the mistake of assuming that he was going in against Laserbeak, robot chicken, not Buzzsaw, screaming metal death machine. Of course, Raoul still would’ve gone in against psycho birdie anyway because Steeljaw was a friend. And a man-a _**real**_ man- always had his friend’s back no matter what. So what if he almost literally got his ass handed back to him when that rusty turkey turned around and mauled him before finally tossing him right into the dumpster behind an all-night Chinese take-out? All the hours spent in surgery had been worth it to have just seen the look on that tin-plated buzzard’s face when he nailed it upside the head with a pipe.

Of course, Tracks had acted as if he was going to die any second. Barely a moment had gone by since Raoul’d been moved from the trauma center and admitted to Mount Sinai ‘for observation’ that the Corvette hadn’t called to check up on him. They’d barely spoken or seen each other since the Albany-Saratoga race. And now Tracks was, for no damn reason, constantly calling almost every day to check in on him and even sent a very large, very _expensive_ bouquet which had caused much giggling and speculation among the nurses to Raoul’s unending embarrassment. Where the hell did a transforming alien car get the money to pay for crap like that, anyway?

Finally, after wasting weeks away flirting with the gals on duty while cleverly bullshitting his way out of some pretty awkward questions from the cops, the day had come for Raoul to be released from the hospital. He’d barely gotten out of the paper gown and back into some normal clothes—funny, he didn’t _remember_ the guys bringing him a change of clothes— when another pair of detectives came bustling in.

“Look, I’ve already told you guys, I got mugged by some fucking junkies and then the bastards beat the shit outta me,” he began automatically and then took a closer look at the detectives. The thin black guy was your standard inner-city cop except for having some of the funkiest shades Raoul’d ever seen but his partner…

His partner must’ve just walked straight off the cover of fashion magazine. This man should’ve been out playing tennis with Ridge Forrester, not slumming in some busted up b-boy’s hospital room. He was just too handsome…too / _flawless_ / to be just another cop. Hell, he was so damn // _ **perfect**_ // that Raoul was seriously starting to wonder if this guy was even human…

“I do hope you know,” huffed Mister Perfect in that casually snobbish tone. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Tracks?!” Raoul gaped at him. “Holy shit! Is the really you?”

The human Tracks sighed. “Yes, it is. And would you please watch your language? This is a med-bay.”

“Hospital,” corrected the black guy, flashing a very toothy grin that made him look kind of like Eddie Murphy. “Humans call ‘em hospitals, not med-bays.”

“Thank you, Jazz,” he grumbled softly.

“What the hell? You mean he’s a robot too?” barked Raoul as he finally got over his surprise. “How the fuck are you doing that? Are those some kind holograms?”

“Hey! Give the kid a prize!” Jazz smirked warmly at the boy, helping him with the crutches while the doctor took Tracks aside for a moment. “We’ve been working on ‘em for years to blend in with you guys, but couldn’t get the holographic interface to look just right. The science guys called it the “Uncanny Valley Effect”, as in looking human but not acting human _enough_. That is, till we got some new tech from one very lovely lady and her equally fine fairy godmother as a little thank you gift for taking care of their little ‘con problem. See, it all started when those fraggers found out about Synergy and—”

“Well, thank you for that lovely story, Jazz, but I do believe my young charge here would like to go back home…” Shooting Jazz a look that could be best called lethal, Tracks gently hustled the boy over to the doctor. He hovered protectively over the young human as Raoul endured the lecture about ‘follow-ups’ and 'prognosis' or some such crap, followed by even more paperwork before they finally decided to discharge him. Of course, Raoul couldn’t help blowing those lovely nurses on duty one last kiss good-bye before getting quickly swept into an elevator by one seriously pissed off robot in disguise.

“Wait here, I’ll be back shortly,” barked Tracks like he was talking to a disobedient puppy after marching them out of the lobby. When he’d left their sight, Raoul turned to the other Autobot.

“What crawled up his tailpipe and died?”

“With Tracks? Man, there’s no tellin’! He’s even bitchier than usual.” Reaching into his jacket, Jazz pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the young human.

“Really?” grumbled Raoul as he leaned in for a light. “I hardly noticed…”

Jazz laughed, bobbing his head in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth! You wouldn’t believe what a royal pain in the ass he can be sometimes. And Tracks has been in rare form ever since he took time off to see you.” He paused, frowning slightly. “You two have a fight or something?”

“No, we didn’t…” Hunching up a bit, Raoul took a deep drag and huffed. “The big guy’s probably still pissed off about me taking him racing on a dirt track. You oughta know how he gets when he’s dirty.”

“Funny… I saw him when he got back and his aft was _**spotless**_.”

Raoul shifted uneasily. “I dunno. Maybe he stopped at a car wash.”

“Tracks? Going through a car wash? In _**public**_?” He raised an eyebrow, staring skeptically over his shade. Then he grinned suddenly and whistled, “Damn! That must’ve been one hell of a show.”

“What ‘cha mean by that?!”

“Whoa! Easy there, man. I didn’t mean anything… It’s just that I never thought he’d do something like that.”

Shooting a glance over at him, Raoul sneered, “Why? Tracks too good to let somebody wash him?”

“Oh no-no, my friend! He _loves_ that kind of attention. Just eats it up! Getting washed really mellows Tracks out, if you follow me baby…” There was this slick, all too deliberate edge to Jazz’s voice that made the human suddenly uncomfortable.

“You mean he gets off on it,” Raoul muttered, dwelling on what happened in garage. Then a bit of fridge logic hit him. “How the fuck does that even work, anyway? You’re _robots_!”

“So?”

“Well, you guys are…are machines, right? It ain’t like you need to knock someone up to have a kid…just a box of spare parts and some tools oughta do it. You even got any junk down there? Or know what sex _is_?”

Jazz cocked his head at the boy in absolute disbelief, and then he doubled over laughing. When he finally pulled himself together, he noticed the kicked puppy stare. “Aw, don’t make that face at me, baby. You oughta know most people like to fuck recreationally. It’s one of the standard pastimes throughout the universe. That and getting royally shit-faced. Anyway, no offense to you humans, but it seems to me that you all got the short end of the stick when it comes to that great and wonderful game of horizontal boom-de-yadda. Hell, there are about five different ways we do it-even more than that if you got the right hook-ups and a creative mind…” He waggled his eyebrows for effect, the grin on his face widening into a friendly leer.

“Five?” Raoul rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m callin’ bullshit ‘cause there’s only three places you can stick it: the mouth, the ass, or the pussy. And I ain’t too sure you guys even have any of that last one, ‘cause I’ve never even heard of any robot chicks.”

“Actually, there’s quite a few femmes left. You don’t see ‘em around because cosmetically female bodies are a rare, expensive, and extremely difficult to manufacture. They’re also tended not to be as physically strong or intimidating as mech body styles, so most hardwired femmes converted to mech bodies after the war started for practical reasons. That is, until Elita-1 got herself a pink paint-job…”

The boy snickered. “She’s _pink_?! Oh yeah, I bet that’s one scary lady! Does she have a frilly little skirt and lacy panties too?”

Jazz stared at him. “Baby, I wouldn’t joke about that if I were you. See, pink is the color of processed energon and where we came from its kinda’ like dressing up in spikes and leather.”

“Right, sure…” grumbled Raoul. “So there are robot girls. Still, that’s only three holes.”

“Who said you just need holes?” the Autobot chuckled. “We’ve got a lot more options than sticking ‘plug A’ into ‘port B’ here!”

“Then please enlighten me.”

“Well, first off there’s direct stimulation of the sensory systems which can set off a nice overload. I even know a guy who gets his rocks off over the smell and taste of marigolds,” hummed Jazz with a grin. “Of course, I think we both can guess what a little washing can lead too…” He winked at the boy, then continued casually. “Next up is playing around with the electromagnetic fields. It’s kind of hard to explain in human terms, but think of the static build-up you get from a TV screen after you turned it off. Now, try and imagine being able to do that with your skin while cuddling up to someone doing the same thing.”

“Wait a minute,” Raoul muttered as he let that idea sink in. “So you’re sayin’ you guys get off on shocking the crap out of each other?”

“Like you said, we are robots…”

“Right. But wouldn’t fuck up your circuits or some shit?”

“Eh…well…” Jazz coughed then waved it off. “There are always some aftereffects with field play. But it’s almost always so minor that your repair systems can fix it right up… Though there have been times I’ve limped into the med-bay after a particularly long night of high-grade and debauchery. But that’s something I’ll tell you about later, babe.”

“Electroshocks…” Raoul grinned suddenly. “Oh man, I can’t believe there’s kinky sex for robots!”

“Kinky?! Primus! Field play is barely even second base. If I recall, it's said to be the third most common 'intimate interaction'. At least, if you believe the official surveys…” Jazz added under his breath.

“So, what’s the first?”

“Ever hook up a VCR to a TV before?”

For a long moment, Raoul just stared at the Autobot and thought about the last time he’d boosted a car radio, slowly imagining the possibilities while Jazz just grinned knowingly. “Damn, man. So every time you guys get new hardware, it’s like getting in a happy ending?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! Pluggin’ is more like foreplay! Besides, going in for mods ain’t sexy at all, especially if you get stuck with Swoop doin’ the job,” Jazz chuckled. “Baby, if you really want to know the real meaning of ‘going all the way’, try bonding!”

“Bonding?” Disturbingly vivid memories of Tracks strapped down to that amp came bubbling into him thoughts. Driven by a mix of painkillers and teenage curiosity, Raoul couldn’t help but ask, “Okay, I’ll bite. Just what the hell is that?”

“It’s…eh…” Now it was Jazz’s turn to be uncomfortable. “That’s actually kind of a sensitive subject, baby. You know… one of those wacky alien things…”

“Oh no!” growled Raoul, grinning evilly. “You can’t just bring something like that up and then cop out on me! You didn’t have any problem talking about all that other shit!”

“Yeah, well all that ain’t as…uh, _intimate_ as bonding is. Might even say it’s a _**religious**_ experience…”

“Aw, come on Jazz! You can’t just leave me hanging, man.”

“Well, baby, it’s kind of complicated….” he grumbled, sounding regretful about bringing the subject up. “To put it simply, bonding is kind of like getting married only you’re merging your spark with somebody else’s.”

“And a spark is…?”

“Something that you don’t need to know about,” snapped Tracks as he reappeared from nowhere, plucking the cigarette out of Raoul’s mouth and flicked it into the ash-urn a few yards away. Then he rounded on Jazz, bristling with paternal outrage. “I would thank you not encourage such a disgusting habit and never bring up such distasteful matters as interfacing when you’re around my ward.”

“Hey man, where do you get off?” the human groused. “We were just havin’ a smoke.”

“It’s bad for your health,” muttered Tracks, herding Raoul towards his idling alt-form. “Anyway, you’re too young to be smoking. Now, we really must be running along. Good bye, Jazz.”

“See ya’,” the boy barked, ducking under Tracks’ arm as he was carefully packed into the passenger seat. “Hey! You got a number? Maybe we could get together later when my old lady here let’s me off the leash…”

“Sure, babe! It’s—”

The Corvette’s engine snarled abruptly. “I said _good bye_ , Jazz.”

With an almost pitying look on his face, Jazz gave Raoul one last wave before the Corvette pulled away from the hospital. They’d barely gone a block from Mt. Sinai before the boy turned on his self-appointed warden.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Pardon?” murmured Tracks while he went through the motions of steering through traffic.

“I’m askin’ you what your fucking problem is? Shit, we were just talking.”

“First off, will you please stop using such vulgarities. It’s rude.” He eased through the muggy streets, the prim veneer never breaking despite hitting a few snarls of gridlock. “And secondly, though Jazz is model soldier and an all around good mech, he happens to be a bit of a rake.”

Raoul glanced over at him. “A what?”

“He's a dirty old man. A very, very dirty old man…” Tracks muttered quietly, “Probably started flirting with you the minute I turned my back.”

“Jesus, I already told ya’ we were just talking!”

“About certain matters that anyone with even a micron of tact does not discuss in public with a child!”

“Child?!” Raoul sat up, wincing but too offended to care. “What the hell, man? I ain’t a kid!”

“From what I was told, you are considered by law to be a minor.”

“I ain’t a minor. If you’d look at my license, it’ll say right there in that I’m twenty-one!”

“I did…” The glove compartment popped open, spitting out a manila envelope into the boy’s lap. “It was falsified, along with most of the other documentation you presented to your landlady, your employer, and various bartenders and store-owners throughout the city. According to your _real_ birth certificate, you won’t legally be an adult for approximately two years, seven months, and four days. And you won’t be legally able to consume alcohol for another three years after that!”

He stared at the papers for a moment then glared at the Autobot. “Just how the hell did you get this shit anyway? I thought you had to be a relative—”

“Or your legal guardian,” Tracks finished coldly. “Which means I’m now responsible for you welfare, your education, and your development into an honest, productive member of society. And knowing you, I fear this is going to take a truly Herculean effort just to teach you some basic manners.”

“Dear god, you sound like my old man…” he moaned sinking back into the seat.

“Well, if you’d prefer, I can always return you to your father and mother in California…”

“ _Step_ -mother.” He hissed the word. “And there’s no way in hell I’m going back there. I was born in New York, I was raised in Harlem, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna leave my home just because the old man went and shacked up with that fucking whore!”

Tracks stared at him, aghast. “I cannot believe you’d say such a thing! What did harm has that woman ever done to you?”

“If you ever met the Wicked Bitch of the West, you’d understand…” Raoul growled, tossing the envelope onto the dashboard. “How did you get made my guardian anyway? And why? I mean, you guys are in the middle of a fucking war, aren’t you?”

“Language, please! How you got placed in my custody isn’t important. As for the reason _why_ I’ve taken it upon myself to be your guardian, it’s because you _**need**_ one. Raoul, you are too young to be able to live by yourself,” Tracks droned in that especially irritatingly smug tone. “And, since you decided to assault of one of Soundwave’s dependents, he now considers you to be an active combatant which means that every Decepticon with half a processor will be hunting you down to get on his—and Megatron's—good side. That makes it my sworn duty to guard you since, as a mere human you aren’t capable of defending yourself and this arrangement makes it so much easier to carry out my orders.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very fucking much. I don’t need you protecting me.”

“I’m afraid that you’re very wrong on both those counts, my boy,” he answered pompously.

“You and I both know for a fucking fact that I can kick the asses of any one of those motherfucking tin-plated bastards. I even took on Megatron by myself! With a _**spray-can**_!” Raoul puffed up a bit, smiling nastily in spite of the painful ache in his side. “A fucking spray-can! And I fucking won! So don’t you fucking sit there and tell me that I ain’t able to handle shit myself!”

“Won?” rasped Tracks. “ _ **Won?!**_ All you did was create a relatively minor system glitch by paint-bombing his laser core. Be thankful his Most Esteemed Lord Protector was so over-energized that the resultant feedback loop threw off his equilibrium…”

“Over-what?”

There was another huff of air. “Drunk. Megatron was drunk off his aft, as usual. Primus, half the Decepticon army stays so blitzed off their afts it's amazing that they can even find the damn battle.”

“You guys can get _drunk_?” Raoul couldn't hide his amusement. “How to fuck do you pull that off? Chug an oil-refinery?”

“In a sense, yes. We are able to get intoxicated by consuming too much fuel and other additives. And no, I am not going to explain _how_ that works because the basic chemistry and algorithms involved is far too complicated for an average adult human to understand, let alone a child like you.”

“Hey! Quit talking to me like I’m some kind of a dumb punk!”

“But you are some kind of punk.” Tracks paused, considering something before adding. “Though I wouldn’t call you dumb. Oh no, never dumb...You, my dear boy, are a surprisingly intelligent—downright cunning at time—unfortunately you seem determined to waste your potential on becoming just another juvenile delinquent. In fact, the best description I can manage is you’re an overconfident, immature smart-ass with a death-wish!”

“One more crack like that,” snarled Raoul. “And next time you come out of ‘recharge’, you’re gonna find yourself fluorescent pink with a smiley face antenna ball and a hula girl on your dash!”

Tracks gave him a smug smile. “And it's the little threats like that just prove how immature and irresponsible of a child you are.”

“Dear god! Will you just drop it already?”

“Not until you accept the fact that you are a very young and very _mortal_ child, not some kind of walking one-man army from those glaringly erroneous movies you so avidly rot your mind with!”

“Alright! So I’m a weak little fleshy! I need a big, strong robot to come save me! Happy?!”

There was a blast of warm air from the vent. “Why do you always have make things so damn difficult?”

“Why did _you_ hit up Child Services and have ‘em put me in your care?”

“Because now I have a legitimate reason to be with you. Primus knows the shameful things people will just _assume_ about an older man spending extended periods of time in the company of a young boy… That one doctor had the nerve to make some truly appalling accusations about my intentions towards you and almost had me _barred_ from the premises!”

Raoul glared over at him. “You sent me flowers.”

“Isn’t it traditional to send friends and loved ones get-well presents?”

“Guys send their buddies _cards_ ,” the boy replied flatly. “There are only three people a man will give flowers to: his mother, his grandmother, or his _old lady_.”

“Old lady?”

“His wife, big guy. Or his girlfriend.”

“Oh…” Tracks’ tone dropped a bit. “I was unaware of that.”

“How can you not know that? There are robot chicks, for crying out loud! You should know this shit!”

“There's really not much of a difference between genders on Cybertron.” A fainter gust of air came out the vents. “Unlike humans, it’s actually a more of a personal preference.”

“Seriously?” Raoul grinned a bit, forgetting his anger in eagerness to learn more about his alien friend. “You mean you guys can pick and choose whether you’re a chick or not?”

“It not quite that simple,” Again, Tracks ‘sighed’. “Female bodies are expensive. Even the most primitive and unfashionable feminine upgrades cost more than the average worker would make in vorn…”

“Vorn?”

“That’s the average time it takes Cybertron to circuit a galaxy. It's roughly 80 Earth years.”

Raoul stared at him. “80 years? One year Robot Time is 80 fucking years?!”

“Actually, a vorn is a closer equivalent to about a month… and must I keep reminding you to stop using that sort of language?”

“A month?!” came the startled little yelp. “How old are you guys?”

“I’m 34 giga-cycles old,” Tracks replied mildly. Seeing that the boy had no idea what a ‘giga-cycle’ was, he added, “That would be a little over 68 million years, Earth standard time.”

“…68 million? Jesus…” repeated Raoul, going slightly pale. “I’ve heard of a May-December romance, but this is ridiculous!” He forced out a laugh.

“Romance? What romance?” He shifted back to that cold formality. “I fail to see anything ‘romantic’ about our relationship. Just a simple acquaintance between a caretaker and his ward, nothing more.”

“Then why are you getting jealous?”

Tracks ignored the question, deftly sliding into a parking space right out front of the apartments. He’d barely gotten out before a pair of girls appeared on stoop.

“Good afternoon, Mister Perlman!” they purred in unison, primping and batting their eyes at him.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Tracks, aka “Mister Perlman”, gave them a slight nod before going around to the passenger side to help the boy out.

“Sorry bitches, you’re all barking up the wrong tree!” Raoul sneered as he hobbled onto the curb, then lisped nastily as he waved his hand limply at them. “He’s gay!”

“You wish, pajaro!” hissed one of the girls.

“Tu madre, puta.”

“Maricón.”

“Cocksucker.”

“Raoul!” Shooting him a reproachful glare, Tracks dutifully helped him up the stairs then paused briefly at the door. “Please pardon that outburst, Miss—Latisha, wasn’t it? My friend here has just gotten out of the hospital and he’s in rather disagreeable mood.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Mister Perlman sir,” cooed Tish, slinking in closer. “That boy is always like that…”

“Fuck you too, Tish.” Raoul growled under his breath as he stealthily flipped her off.

“By the way, Mister Perlman,” purred the other girl, squeezing her past Tish. “Elevator’s still out, so you’re gonna hafta use the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Tish murmured as she butted her friend out of the way and smiling nastily when she noticed Raoul’s cast. “Real tough break, seeing that you’re going all the way up to the fifth floor and all…”

“Thank you Jacqueline dear, but I think I can manage.” Without warning, he scooped the boy up into his arms and calmly carried him into the building.

Tish and Jackie staring after the pair blindsided by shock while Raoul glared at Tracks in mute horror. It wasn’t until Tracks let him down by the apartment door that the teen rounded on him.

“What the fucking hell is _wrong_ with you?” Raoul snarled as he staggered through the door.

Tracks blinked in confusion. “What? The elevator is out and in your condition you aren’t to exert yourself.”

“What the fuck is _**wrong**_ with you?!” roared the boy, collapsing onto the second-hand couch without noticing the boxes scattered around the apartment. “Right in front of those putas?! Holy fucking shit… Half the goddamn Barrio’s gonna find out…”

“Find out? Find out _what_ , exactly?”

“They’re all gonna think I’m your bitch!” When that failed to get a reaction, Raoul snapped, “Do you understand what a ‘bitch’ is?”

“Yes. It’s a female dog.”

He stared at the disguised robot in complete surprise. “…that’s it? That’s all?”

“Well, I do recall Carly saying that it was extremely rude to address a female human that way,” murmured Tracks as he bustled around, packing away some things off a shelf.

“How about faggot? Do you know what a faggot is?”

“Yes.” Before Raoul could say anything, Tracks continued blandly, “It’s a bundle of sticks.”

“You're fucking with me, aren't you? You cannot stand there and act like you don’t know shit about gays.”

“I suspect they’re very happy people,” grumbled the robot. “And will you please try to stop cursing every other sentence?”

“How about ‘queer’? You know what that means?” There was a panicked tone to his voice.

“It means strange or odd.” Tracks frowned. “Look, I don’t know why you’re asking all these silly questions. If you really need definitions, you could look up the answers in a dictionary…”

“Are there any of those ‘femme’ models on Earth?” asked Raoul abruptly.

“Pardon?”

“Are any girl robots on Earth?”

Tracks went over to the sofa, his frown deepening as he considered the question. “If you’re talking about the ones who are cosmetically female in appearance, Arcee would be the only one currently stationed on Earth. Of course, we had to do some radical modifications recently to her outer armor design in order to appease a very persistent group belong to the 'feminist' faction. They were under the impression that because we didn’t have anyone who looked superficially like a human female, that we were being ‘sexist’ and purposely excluding females from our ranks. Absolutely stupid, in my opinion. The very idea that any rational being would think that gender determines whether or not you’re qualified for military service is absurd!” He paused, huffing angrily. “Besides, once Arcee had undergone the modifications, the group’s spokeswoman had the nerve to state that she was ‘a male-chauvinistic stereotype’ just because her new design was based on the appearance of a nude Carrie Fischer.”

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at him. “Let me get this straight: There's only one female robot on Earth and she's a giant, naked Princess Leia?”

“Well, yes.” He let out another little huff. “You know, I am amazed there was such a fuss over it. First off, Arcee gave her full consent in the matter and was happy when Optimus personally assigned Sunstreaker and Grapple, two of our most artistic mechs, to undertake the design aspects of this project. And they both thoroughly researched every detail they could about the human ideal of feminine beauty. They were also adamant that nudes of either gender were indeed appropriate and would be more economical, especially after Wheeljack submitted his estimate on how much raw material he’d need to construct a set of external armor resembling a ball gown.”

“You seriously were going to put her in a dress?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong! It was very beautiful design… In fact, I believe the concept drawings are still archived. Just a moment, and I’ll show you them.” Tracks stretched out his hand and a off-white box that was the size of a large paperback materialized in his palm. He opened it flat to reveal a black screen with a green grid overlay and surrounded by tiny bumps. When Tracks turned it on, a floating image of Martian Space Princess Barbie and her Office of the Future appeared.

“What in God’s name is that thing?” Raoul asked, moving to get a better look at the little hologram waving and happily babbling at him in some kind of crazy moonman language.

“Oh this old thing?” muttered Tracks, giving the little hologram girl a friendly tap on the head as he sat the computer onto the arm of the couch. “It's just a little Nebulan palmtop. I amazed it's even able to runs a Teletran OS as complicated as a 40 series.”

“Nib-u-whatsit?” He reached out cautiously and flicked MSP Barbie's backside, causing her skirt to flip up and show her space panties. Grinning, he watched her angrily shake a tiny fist at him, shouting at him in what he guessed was Nibanese.

“It's a portable computer. Really, you're acting like this is some kind of miracle machine.”

“Cause it _is_.” Raoul continued poking at the little green girl, 'chasing' her around the desk and filing cabinets with his finger. “I've never seen a computer do _this_ before. What is this? Some kind of super alien Tandy or-OW!”

Fed up with being harassed, MSP Barbie bit down on his finger.

“Holy crap! How the fuck did she do _that_?!”

“The same way I can stand here talking to you without doing major damage to this building. This palmtop uses a solid-matter holographic user interface. All you have to is ask Teletran-42 to fetch a folder like so...” He murmured another bunch of crazy moonman speak at her and the little hologram happily skipped to one of her cabinets, pulling out a large blue folder. She laid it out on the desk for him. “And then just open it.”

And with a flick of his finger, Tracks tapped the folder and up popped a the image of a thin, very evil looking robotic monster.

“This,” Tracks hummed without really noticing the look of horror on his charge's face. “ Is Arcee. Prior to the redesign, of course.”

“She looks like that thing from _Alien_ crossed with the fucking Predator. With pink highlights.”

“That’s because her original alt mode was that of a Kalis Crystal Spider,” He smiled wistfully. “It happens to be one of the few large predators able to thrive in the Toxic Sludge Swamp owing to its aggressiveness and trans-organic nature. Made for the most interesting hunting... From what I’ve been told, when Arcee was still a youngling her creator abandoned her in the swamp and she was found living with a hive of them. It turns out that she has quite an affinity for animals. It's rather like the story Snow White.”

“Yeah… She’s a regular Disney princess…”

Tracks rolled his eyes at the boy. “Honestly! Arcee happens to be a very polite and good natured young femme once you get to know her better…”

“She looks like something that crawled out of Freddy Krueger's nightmares. I can't tell whether she'd rather fuck me, kill me, or rape me while murdering me...”

“She’s never do such a thing. And I assure you Arcee was much more pleasant looking without that battle-mask on. I can’t begin to tell you how hard it was to convince her to get rid of that awful thing! It was a vast improvement once she did…” Reaching over, Tracks flipped to another image.

Now Raoul found himself face to face with an androgynously pretty gray face that had the kind of broad, toothy smile that would make a hungry shark seem friendly.

“That ain’t much better…” he muttered, edging back slightly.

“Honestly, she is very sweet in person.”

“Right…” He glanced at the next image that Tracks flipped to. It was of an attractive pink robot girl posing for the camera. “Okay, now that I can deal with. So, since she’s the only robot chick in the whole damn world, Arcee must be pretty popular…”

“Well she certainly does have a couple of young mechs fawning over her,” Tracks murmured primly. “Of course, in spite of her upbringing, she happens to be quite a well-bred young lady.”

“You mean she don’t put out?” hummed Raoul with a grin.

Pulling off a magnificent grimace, Tracks let out a weary sigh. “Will you please explain to me why you must have such a fixation on sex?”

“Sure! Right after you tell me why the hell you don't know jack shit about humans.”

“Excuse me? I'll have you know that I happen to have had a thorough debreifing on proper human behavior which included extensive study of Earth broadcasts.”

“What kind of broadcasts?”

“Well, / _As the Kitchen Sinks_ / and other soap operas are a popular research subject along with various broadcasts saved by Teletraan-1. Episodes of _/I Love Lucy/, /Leave It to Beaver/, /Father Knows Best/_ and other slice of life kind programs are almost as popular with most of the crew _._ I'm personally fond of / _Bewitched/._ Can't stand / _Gilligan's Island_ /, though... It's far too unrealistic. I mean, why didn't they just place Gilligan into stasis instead of letting him continue to ruin their chances at being rescued every time?”

Raoul stared at him for a long, silent moment. “You're kidding, right?”

“Why would I joke about this?” Tracks grumbled, going back to his tidying. “Now, I understand that there's some dramatic license taken but they are a decent guideline for the daily life of the average American.”

“You do realize almost all those shows came out in the fifties, right? Fuck! That shit wasn't even true thirty years ago if you weren't a goddamn WASP!”

“Will you please quit using such vulgar language? Seriously, I'm getting rather tired of repeating myself.” He paused. “Also, isn't a wasp an insect? Or is that the name of a human faction?”

“It means 'White Anglo-Saxon Protestant'. Jesus, you honestly don't expect me to believe you guys learned everything you know about humanity from the fucking TV!”

“That's not exactly true. We've had quite a bit of input from Sparkplug, Spike and his friends about some of the more puzzling aspects of human culture. Though I've still haven't gotten an answer as to why mated couples are required to sleep in separate beds.”

Suddenly Raoul burst out laughing, then just a quickly curled up in a little ball of pain. He waved off the painkillers Tracks dutifully offered. “Christ! You really think people live like that?!”

“Well, why else would such an impractical state of affairs be so prevalent in your media?” he muttered, fingering the bottle of pills idly.

“'Cause back then nobody was suppose to get down with each other.”

“Get down with--” Tracks suddenly let out a groan. “Again with sex? Is that all your species thinks about?!”

“Hey, it ain't like we can make more people any other way! I haven't seen any Radio Shacks carrying a Build-Your-Own-Brat kit yet.”

“Honestly, there's more to it than simple procreation...”

The grin widened. “Yeah. That's why it's one of the universes two favorite pastimes: getting fucked and getting fucked up!”

“Let me assure you that, despite whatever Jazz might have told you, the cultured Cybertronians have more sophisticated ways of passing the time than that.”

“Oh, I get it...” he chuckled, wincing. “Ain't nobody good enough for Mister Perfect, right? Betcha you must get tired turning down all the ladies...”

“Actually, no. I don't court femmes because I'm not attracted to my own gender.”

Raoul twisted around sharply to face him, barely holding back a hiss of pain. “You're not _what_?”

“I am not sexually attracted to my own gender.” Tracks repeated slowly. “Really, it isn't that hard to understand.”

“Uh...maybe you're misunderstanding me, but a guy who's not interested in pussy is almost by default a faggot you know. That is unless you're a trannie or something.”

“A what?”

“A trannie. You know, a transexual?”

He waited for a response, but Tracks only stared vacantly off to a point just a bit past his left ear. It took Raoul a minute to notice that his eyes had changed back to the total neon blue glow he knew. Fascinated by this changed, he watched as thin glowing lines appeared, first a pair running from just below each eye to the jawline, then symmetrical angles that formed interlacing patterns. Suddenly, the lines disappeared and Tracks glared at him, his eyes still glowing.

“I just looked up what those words you keep using _meant_... And as of right now, the only time you are allowed to use words like 'gay' is if you're using the proper dictionary definition.”

Raoul started chuckling. “You just _**now**_ looked those up?”

“This is not funny.”

“Oh, it's fucking hilarious! Here you are, a super-advanced alien robot older than God and you can't even be bothered to look at your little cheat sheet? You just know everything, don't you?” His tone dropped from a laugh to a hateful hiss. “In case you haven't noticed, this ghetto. Or do they have ghettos on your planet?”

“Believe me, they _do._ Which is why I've spoken with a very nice young lady who was more than happy to allow us to have one of her penthouses on Fifth Avenue. According to Miss Carlton-Ritz, it has lovely view of the park and Carnegie Hill is within a few blocks of the school you're going so it won't be too drastic of a change for you.”

“You're pulling my dick...”

“No, and I must insist that you never use that expression again.”

“You are not seriously telling me some rich bimbo is just letting you move this homeboy's ass into her old apartment on fucking Carnegie Hill?”

“Yes, I am seriously telling you that Miss Carlton-Ritz was kind enough to put me on the lease and let us move in after your landlady evicted you.”

Raoul stared at him. “...what?”

“Given the situation, I had to explain to your landlady that the lease you'd signed was invalid since you're not of age and I'd be more than happy to take responsibility for rent. She was rather...empathic that we find other living arrangements. I was lucky to get her to give me till this Friday to get moved out. Though I just cannot fathom why she'd suddenly be so hostile about the issue.”

“Cause the old hag thinks you're fucking me...”

Barely suppressing growl, Tracks rubbed his temples. “Yet again we come back to sex?”

“I'm fucking amazed this ain't gotten through your damn circuits yet,” the boy grumbled. “Look at it from a normal person's perspective: Here I am, your average cheap little punk, who suddenly has an extremely good-looking and rich older white man driving him around in a truly gorgeous Corvette, offering to pay his bills, and generally acting like hubby dearest. It ain't that much of a leap to think we're screwing.”

“But we aren't. No offense, but I just shocks me that almost all of you humans automatically jump to the conclusion that an older person showing any kind of affection or charity to someone younger than themselves must be involved with them sexually. It's not only insulting but truly disturbing!”

“So, that thing in the garage never happened?”

“What _thing_? I don't recall anything happening in a garage.” Tracks answered stiffly, stepping quickly to the kitchenette to get a glass of water.

“Don't you fucking dare act like that didn't happen. Or does it only count if I stick up your tailpipe?”

“First off, you'd be effectively jabbing your genitalia into my nostril,” he hissed, then continued in increasingly strained tone. “And secondly, nothing happened in that garage, understand? I just allowed you to use me for a race, we came back, I got cleaned up, and then we returned to our respective homes in a perfectly normal fashion. _**Nothing**_ else happened. Am I making myself _**clear**_?”

“Oh no. Uh-uh. You are not going to stand there and pretend that we didn't fuck.”

“Because we _didn't_. Now, will you please just let it go?” His tone shifted for outrage to a pleading and odd kind of weariness. “Please, can we just not talk about this right now? You need to rest like the doctor told you to. It's going to be hard enough getting moved without having to deal with all this slag as well. Also, it's time for you to take your medication anyway.”

Growling, Raoul settled back on the couch. “Fine. Subject dropped. Besides, I'd like to get royally bombed off my ass right now...”

“Thank you. Here,” He hand him the water and the pills, pretending not to have heard that last part. “Now, I'm going to take some of these boxes over to the apartment. If you need anything, just tell Teletran-42 to call me and I'll be here immediately.”

“And just _how_ am I suppose do that?” he muttered sulkily. “I don't speak alien!”

“She's been programmed to speak and respond to a few English phrases. Just say 'Call Tracks' and she'll connect you to me.”

Raoul grinned slyly. “So all I gotta do is say 'call' and a name, right?”

“Yes,” answered the robot, glad that Raoul's fickle attention had focused on something else. “Also, here's a list of commands Teletran-42 knows. I'm sure you'll find plenty to keep yourself amused for the time being.”

“Oh, I will. I will!” he replied in a overly cheerful tone. He waited till Tracks had left before leaning toward Teletran-42. “Okay, my little Martian princess, let's see if we can reach out and touch somebody... Call Jazz.”

She cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. “Emergency?”

“No. I just wanna talk to him.”

Teletran-42 frowned, angrily wagging a finger at him. “No call. Emergency ONLY!”

“But this is an emergency!” Raoul whined. “I desperately need to talk with a guy who doesn't have a stick up his ass!”

“No call.” She huffed up and crossed her arms.

“Pretty please?”

“No. No call!”

Grinding his teeth, Raoul thought for a moment. “Okay, fine! How about you do something useful, like -I dunno- let me watch a movie or something?”

“Moo-vee?” she repeated with another puzzled look.

“You know, movies? TV shows?”

“Oh! Tee-Vee!” Grinning, she tapped at her desk and the office scene was replace by a little movie theater complete with a stage and a large, floating screen. On it was a list of channel numbers and show names.

“Okay! Now we're getting somewhere...” He scanned through the lists, popping back a couple of pills while he tried to find something interesting. “Let's see... Alf, Season 1? The Wizard, full series? Designing Women?! Jesus... This is all crap! Don't you have anything cool?”

“Coo-ool?”

“You know, something exciting? With explosions and action?”

Teletran-42 pursed her lips in thought, then happily hopped up and down. “Kamen Rider Black! Kamen Rider Black!”

“Alright, Kamen Rider Black it is!” He stretched out as the title flashed across the screen to start the opening credits. By the time Tracks had returned, the pills had taken hold of Raoul, sending him off to sleep dreaming of motorcycles and weird cyborg monsters.


	3. Stage 01-03: L'Heure Bleu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Fair warning, this is a very “talky” chapter. Also, a small note about the usage of military ranks. I'm basing them solely on conjecture as to which modern, US rank would equal to which numerical rank according to the tech specs since G1 doesn't provide any concrete terms or really any clear chain of command. Commander, for example, comes across more as a description of a given Transformer's duties rather than an actual military rank. Basically, I tried to establish a rough guideline for who answers to who in the Autobot chain of command.]

 

> >Opening commline. Accessing relay server #44769.87.ny.ny.us
> 
> >User ID: tracks.war.fl
> 
> >Passcode:************
> 
> >Sending request for chat [mode:private] to relay server #44788.87.ny.ny.us
> 
> >Request sent to user ID: jmunkey.sp.ops
> 
> >Awaiting approval...
> 
> >Request accepted. Opening chatroom #5922

**jmunkey.sp.ops:** Hello darlin'! How's things uptown?

 **tracks.war.fl:** Just splendid. I've finally finished bringing over the last of Raoul's things and cleaning the apartment. I cannot fathom how anyone could to live in such squalor! Dear Primus, I found things in that refrigeration unit that that expired over a decade ago! There were things in there that I swear had started to _evolve_ sapient thought! And do not get me started on the washroom...

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Aw now, it couldn't have been any worse than my old pad.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Yes, but there's an important difference. You are an adult. Raoul is a _child_ _._ Also, I had a variable beam pistol when I cleaned out your quarters...

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** If you're gonna get technical about it, that was originally his uncle's pad.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Oh yes... Uncle Mitch. The charming gentleman who was teaching little Raoul how to be a productive member of society! Like showing him such vital job skills as forgery and breaking into vehicles to steal radios. This was the ever-loving uncle who's currently serving fifteen years for grand theft auto, burglary, and narcotics possession, leaving a thirteen year-old boy completely on his own in a slum!

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Whoa, now just wait a minute. Ain't you going a bit overboard? Sure, he's had it rough but Raoul turned out to be a pretty decent kid. So he tried to steal you, but there were mitigating circumstances. And hell, if I'd seen your pretty aft sitting all alone in some dark alley, I'd have tried to take you home with me too.

 **tracks.war.fl:** He was dealing drugs, Jazz.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** What makes you think that? Man, you're gonna need proof than that before makin' those kinds of accusations.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Proof? How about three kilos of cannabis? Is that enough proof for you?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Say what?

 **tracks.war.fl:** Three kilos. Before you ask, I've already had a little talk with Raoul.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** You mean you had another fight?

 **tracks.war.fl:** No. When I mentioned finding and destroying the drugs, he just shrugged it off. Then I simply explained that if he needs anything-money, clothes, whatever-I'd be more happy give it to him.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Oh, that's going to work out really _well_...

 **tracks.war.fl:** Raoul seems to be alright with this arrangement. He's been surprisingly agreeable with everything lately. It's not like him at all. To be honest, he's been too quiet and acting bit...well, defeated.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** So our boy ain't taking it well, is he?

 **tracks.war.fl:** He is adjusting as well as can be expected.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** You told him yet?

 **tracks.war.fl:** The doctor already explain all this to him before we left the hospital. I really don't think I need to remind him of the obvious.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Tracks, darlin' dearest... You know he wasn't paying a bit of attention to any of that, right? The guy might as well as been speaking another language as far as our boy was concerned.

 **tracks.war.fl:** And what do you suggest I tell him? 'Surprise! You're a cripple now!'?! Dear Primus... This is all my fault... If I had gotten to him sooner... If I hadn't volunteered for that damn bait-car business in the first fucking place...

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Whoa there, darlin'! Let's not start this shit again. You couldn't have known he'd be crazy enough to jump a 'con.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Actually, I _did_ know. He's a reckless, idiot boy and I was stupid to even bring him along...

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Lemme repeat myself: You did not know that we'd get attacked. You didn't know that Raoul would run in on the fight. None of the intel we had at the time mentioned Buzzsaw or the twins or the fucking Battlechargers were active in the city. In fact, everything we'd gotten in recon showed that the only known Decepticon activity in this area has been the theft of a single Lamborghini Countach LP400, some kind of contra-grav prototype, and human surgical supplies.

 **tracks.war.fl:** But why are the stealing those things?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** We're still trying to figure that out.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Perhaps they're creating a transtector? It's the only sensible conclusion to why the Decepticons would take medical instruments.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** That's just the problem. If they're making a transtector, the 'cons are gonna need a base to build and store it at, along with surgeon able to work with cyberware. We've already destroyed the base in Jersey and last time I checked, the 'cons ain't got nobody qualified to operate on organics currently active on Earth. Also, our intel shows that Megs has standing orders that no more master types are to be created from any lifeforms native to Earth. What we've been able to gather as to why that order was issued is there was some kind of experiment using a couple of human victims and it resulted in a catastrophic failure.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Jazz, the fact they're experimenting with humans is not exactly encouraging... But maybe it's not for a transtector. What if they're attempting to create a legion of combat drones.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** We thought about that, but it still doesn't make sense. The 'cons only stole a single vehicle from the collection of one Prince Jumal al-Hassan idn Abdul-Rahim idn Suleiman al-Haddad. They didn't even touch the other cars. And trust me, if Megs wanted to build an army, he'd have plenty to work with there.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Jumal? Isn't he that boy who assisted the Aerialbots?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Yeah, that's the kid. Which is why this whole thing is getting kind of scary.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Why so?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Okay, this is gonna sound a bit crazy so bear with me. There were a series of unusually break-ins a while back which officially were linked to Cobra but after what's happened, I'm beginning to think the 'cons are really the ones behind it. The thieves were hitting companies belonging to or in some way affiliated with either Blackrock Industries or Hamada Technologies. The biggest raid happened on Bosta Biomedical, which just happens to be doing research into the cybernetic limb replacement.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Are you telling me the humans have finally developed cybernetics?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Don't get your hopes up just yet, babe. Their still in the experimental stage, so I doubt we'll be able to get our lil' buddies a pair of shiny new legs any time soon.

 **tracks.war.fl:** But it is possible, right?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Tracks darlin', I know what you're thinking and I'm sorry to say that it ain't gonna happen for a long damn time.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Very well. Now, back to your story. Just what happened at Bosta?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** From the report I saw, a small group of what is believe to be Cobra agents broke into the Bosta R &D and stole the research for a prototype artificial limb along with a beta version of a spinal interface device. Now, here's were shit starts getting strange. A couple of weeks after the theft, one of the scientist involved in the project gets this mysterious crate in the mail. Given what had gone down earlier, they presumed it was a bomb but turns out the crate contain the prototype and the interface along with all of the stolen documents. There was even a letter packed in with everything, apologizing for the “inconvenience” and complimenting the researchers on their work.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Let me see if I'm following you. Are you telling me that the Decepticons used a group of Cobra agents to steal research from a biomechanics company, then returned everything they had taken as well as send an apology?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** I can't make this shit up! And it's about to get even crazier...

 **tracks.war.fl:** This is interesting. So please go on, darling dearest.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Well, seeing as Cobra had it's slimy claws in this, the Joes were brought in and tracked down the crate's origin: an abandoned research station on this tiny atoll about 750 km northeast of Raoul Island.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Raoul Island?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Yeah. Funny coincidence, eh? But seriously, that ain't the creepy part. I did a bit of digging around-on the behalf of that lovely Lady Jayne of course- and found out something really interesting. Seems that research station was a joint venture between Blackrock and Hamada to study an unusual coral formation that apparently was connected to a series of geothermal vents. They were also testing out a new line of submersible robots and exoskeletons that Blackrock was hoping to put into mass production. If the reports are correct, they'd been having problems with the submersibles after uncovering an underwater cavern complex. It apparently got bad enough that old' G.B came down in person to inspect the place, just in time for one submersibles to go haywire in the dry dock and try to bash his head in. The details start getting fuzzy from there on, but apparently Circuit Breaker just happened be around to “rescue” Blackrock and go on a rampage. One of the scientist went after her in an exosuit when she started attacking the other researchers and managed to buy them enough time to evacuate.

 **tracks.war.fl:** I'm guessing things did not turn out well for the poor scientist... But how does this relate to the theft at Bosta?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** I'm getting there, gorgeous. See, that poor kid apparently got herself fried. Can't be sure, since they were unable recovered the body due to the dry dock caving in. As for Circuit Breaker, the authorities are still trying to track her down, but I doubt she'll ever get caught. Now here's the freaky bit. You know who that scientist was?

 **tracks.war.fl:** No, but I'm going to presume that this is important.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** It is. Turns out she was Dr. Elise Presser.

 **tracks.war.fl:** And she's important how? I do feel sorry for her, but where are you heading with this?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Appears she was one of the college kids that put Brawl CPU into their science project.

 **tracks.war.fl:** / _Those_ / kids? I thought they were in high school.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Sweetheart, you seriously need to quite watching those cartoons. Getting back on track, you notice a pattern yet?

 **tracks.war.fl:** No. Not really.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** All of these incidents have involved humans that have a connection with us. Presser was involved with that “B.O.T.” business, Prince Jumal is friends with Aerialbots, Fujiyama owns Hamada Technologies, Blackrock supplies us with fuel...

 **tracks.war.fl:** ...and Raoul was attacked because he's with me, is that it? It would be a good theory, but Circuit Breaker is a robot hating homicidal maniac. She's the last person who'd join forces with Decepticons.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Ah, but that's where you wrong! Turns out the Insecticons had been active in the area when the slag hit the fan, and they've been attacking anything related to Hamada Technologies for some reason. In fact, it's pretty safe to say that they were the ones who were sabotaging the submersibles. Now, I ain't got any proof for this part but I think they're also the reason Circuit Breaker was there too. She must have noticed the bugs lurking around the atoll, gone down to investigate, and happened to break into the lab a just in time to see the submersible go berserk.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Or she could have simply been following Blackrock. Really Jazz, your getting almost as bad as Red Alert.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** That's cold, baby.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Well, what did you expect? This little theory of yours hinges upon so many strange coincidences that it's more the ranting of a paranoid lunatic than a reasonable explanation. Besides, if the Decepticons are targeting our human allies, why haven't they done anything to the Witwickys? Or Chip? Or even Carly?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Probably 'cause they're better protected and not as easy a target as say a kid and a single Autobot.

 **tracks.war.fl:** But it still doesn't make sense! If this an attempt to demoralize us, then why was Raoul the only one actually attacked. And why even bother with the thefts you mentioned? What the hell could they be planning to do with a sports car, some experimental technologies, and surgical tools?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** I ain't to sure... But I've got this _feelin_ ' that something big is gonna go down.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Jazz, my dear, I believe you might need to take a little break. Your starting to make Red seem like a reasonable and well-adjusted mech.

 

> >User ID: red.alert.sec has joined room.

**red.alert.sec:** In case you've forgotten, Tracks, it's considered insubordination to slander a superior officer

 **tracks.war.fl:** Actually, this is technically a text conversation, which would mean it'd be libel. Also, this is a _private_ conversation. Oh, and for the record Red Alert, I outrank you.

 **red.alert.sec:** Director of Security supersedes all other authority below the rank of a sub-commander in any matter involving a potential security violation! You're using an unsecured relay to discuss an ongoing inquiry into a possible Decepticon plot! Primus knows who else could be eavesdropping on this line right now...

 **tracks.war.fl:** Obviously, if there was anyone else listening in, they are at least polite enough not to butt in. Now if you will excuse me, I have to be going. Raoul will be getting out of school soon and I really don't want to keep him waiting in this heat.

 **red.alert.sec:** YOU LEFT HIM ALONE IN AN UNSECURED LOCATION?!

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Whoa, Red! Lay off the caps-lock. It's cool, 'kay? I've been patrolling the area and it's cassette free. Speaking of patrol, I'll be right back.

>jmunkey.sp.ops has gone on idle

 **red.alert.sec:** But humans don't attend school during this season! They're off on vacations or whatever humans do in the warm season.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Actually, there's something called 'summer school'. To keep from getting expelled due to truancy, Raoul has to make up all the class time he missed during the regular school year.

 **red.alert.sec:** Then why wasn't I informed of this? That location needed to be inspected and properly set-up for observation. And may I remind you that the apartment your occupying is still not appropriately secured?

 **tracks.war.fl:** I already notified Ironhide and Jazz about this arrangement. And may I remind _you_ that I will not have you place cameras all over the city! It's bad enough having proximity sensors strewn about the apartment as well as the whole damn block but 24-hour video surveillance on Raoul at all times? That is crossing the line!

 **red.alert.sec:** Given the nature of this new threat, the boy along with all of our other human allies are currently under protective custody until further notice. That means that any and all methods must be used to ensure their safety!

 **tracks.war.fl:** Oh, for the love of Primus... I will not treat Raoul like a prisoner! He deserves to have some privacy.

 **red.alert.sec:** Are you really concerned for _his_ privacy? Or is there something you might be trying to hide?

 **tracks.war.fl:** And just what exactly are you implying?!

 **red.alert.sec:** I'm not implying anything... I flatting out stating it as **fact** : You are having a sexual relationship with an adolescent human!

 **tracks.war.fl:** How dare you! I will have you know that the relationship between Raoul and myself is strictly platonic and I will not stand for these unseemly accusations any more! And even if I were engaged in such an affair, there's no proof of anything. Now I demand an end to all these filthy allegations at once!

 **red.alert.sec:** No proof? Oh, I've got plenty of proof... A nice little video's worth of it. Or are you going to tell me that's the way they polish cars in New York?

 **tracks.war.fl:** I don't have to listen to you spout off a bunch of nonsense!

 **red.alert.sec:** This isn't nonsense! It is the _**truth**_! You are pursuing a sexual relationship with an underage human who you've been assigned to protect. But leaving aside the obvious illegality of pedophilia, how does “abuse of trust” strike you? I'm sure the human civil authorities would _love_ to see how you've been treating your little pet.

 **tracks.war.fl:** I guess blackmail is just one of little things – like stalking and filming underage mechs while they're in the washracks – is perfectly fine in the eyes of the law now?

 **red.alert.sec:** That has nothing to do with this! Bluestreak is known a suicide risk! It was imperative that he be placed under constant observation.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Constant observation my aft! You're nothing more than a filthy little pervert using his authority to spy on other mechs for your own sick amusement!

 **red.alert.sec:** At least I'm not a organic fucking xenophile!

 

> >jmunkey.sp.ops has returned

**jmunkey.sp.ops:** What the fuck?! I look away for less than a minute and you two are at each others throats again?

 **red.alert.sec:** He has no right to make such allegations! I WAS ACTING WELL WITHIN MY AUTHORITY!

 **tracks.war.fl:** And I suppose it's perfectly all right to threaten blackmail!

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Alright, that's it! That's enough!

 **red.alert.sec:** But Jazz! I've got a video file proving that there was a sex act between those two when they returned to the human's place of employment!

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** I said that was enough! Why in the flamin' Pit did you have a camera in that garage in the first place?

 **red.alert.sec:** The boy was in close contact with Tracks for over a year and has an extensive criminal record. It was in the best interests of-

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** I'm gonna stop you right there, because I don't recall either Hide or myself ever giving the okay to put Raoul under surveillance prior to the attack. In fact, don't you have to get at least old rusty aft's permission first before you can even install a camera drone anywhere?

 **red.alert.sec:** It's at the discretion of the Director of Security to place any potential security risks under immediate observation. Besides, I had Prowl's approval to place those cameras.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Okay. So you're saying that all our human allies were being watched at the time?

 **red.alert.sec:** I...I never said that. In fact, I've already cleared almost all the natives who have extensive contact to with us and our base of operations.

 **tracks.war.fl:** You mean the Witwickys, Miss Carly, and Chip don't merit your attention. And just what has Raoul done to deserve being treated like a threat?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Baby I think I can handle this alone. But that's a damn good point: Why hasn't the kid been cleared yet all the others have?

 **red.alert.sec:** They... they're honest, law-abiding citizens. Need I remind you of that monkey—that _human's_ criminal record? He was falsifying information! Ran away form his creators at a early age! Tracks even admits that he's a narcotics dealer! And according to the records I've obtained, he's been charged with multiple counts of burglary, attempted theft, and vandalism, as well as one very notable incident of breaking and entering that culminated in an assault with a deadly weapon—the latter charges resulting in a six-month detainment at a juvenile corrections center.

 **tracks.war.fl:** You have NO right to know that information!

 **red.alert.sec:** I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO KNOW! HE'S NOTHING MORE THAN CRIMINAL SCUM! AND I DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER TO ANYONE ELSE'S AUTHORITY ON THIS MATTER!

 

> >Admin override engaged. Chat authority given over to user ID:***
> 
> >User ID:*** has entered room

**prowl.lt.ssd:** I apologize for intruding, but I believe Tracks is correct: You _**do not**_ have the right to access Raoul's criminal record since, as a juvenile offender, they are sealed by the court. Also, Red Alert? The chain of command goes like so: Director of Security answers to the Security Chief, who answers to the Commander of Special Operations  & Security, who in turns answers to the Commander of the Strategic Services Division. And you routinely fail to observe this chain of command by directly requesting my permission to set up surveillance instead of going through the proper channels.

 **red.alert.sec:** But it was an _emergency_ , sir! And don't forget that without the cameras, there would be no proof the crime!

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** What crime?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Ya' mean aside from the insubordination, invasion of privacy, harassment, and overall power-tripping going on? Though it still beats hijacking this chatroom. Seriously, Prowl, you're starting to creep me out with this kind of thing...

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** You do realize I have grounds to court-martial all three of you just for what's been said in this chat? But I'm going to let this slide. First off, I do not see any evidence that Tracks has done anything worse than taking his young...eh, _companion_ at his word about being of age. I also doubt that any human authority would prosecute a case of a teen dry-humping the fender of a sports car. In short, Red Alert, you're allegations—while true—are in fact completely irrelevant and the evidence you have is basically useless in any court of law on Earth, given how you managed to get the video in the first place.

 **red.alert.sec:** But, sir, I—

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Also, I've sent Inferno down to accompany you to your annual maintenance examination. Which will also include a full psych evaluation. You're being taken off active duty until cleared by the medical team. Is that understood?

 **red.alert.sec:** You...you cannot be serious! Who's going to watch the security center?!

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Bumblebee will be taking over your duties for the time being. You are dismissed.

 **red.alert.sec:** Prowl, please just listen to reason—

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** I said you were dismissed, soldier.

 

> >User ID:*** has banned user ID: red.alert.sec from chat

**jmunkey.sp.ops:** ...psych evaluation? Don't ya' think that's a bit harsh?

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Jazz, if I were you, I'd be worried about my own aft. You cannot be stupid enough to discuss an on-going investigation while on a unsecured channel and with someone who is not cleared or involved in the first place.

 **tracks.war.fl:** You're taking this nonsense _**seriously**_?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Darling, hush. And Prowl, I would say Tracks needs to know what we got out of Ratb—

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Maybe I wasn't being clear: You are not to talk about this any further with anyone outside the investigative team unless I order otherwise. Is that understood?

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** ...yes, sir.

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Good. Now, Tracks?

 **tracks.war.fl:** Yes sir?

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** I'll try to make this brief, but you need to understand that disciplinary actions have already been taken concerning Red Alert placing Bluestreak under surveillance without authorization. And, when he's done with maintenance, I will personally see that the footage he has involving you and Raoul is properly disposed of as well as take appropriate corrective action about that matter. Therefore, I suggest that you drop it.

 **tracks.war.fl:** But Prowl—

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** I didn't give you leave to speak freely, soldier.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Permission to speak freely, sir?

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** … Very well. Permission granted.

 **tracks.war.fl:** With all due respect to Red Alert, I'm afraid I cannot just let the matter lie. He's gone beyond being just a nuisance... He's outright blackmailing, stalking, spying on, and has even started threatening physical violence towards other mechs. You cannot ignore that Red Alert's behavior has gone completely out of control. He's a paranoid lunatic who needs to be committed!

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** And just where do you suggest we put him?

 **tracks.war.fl:** A prolonged shore leave on Torkulon would be a start...

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** You're suggestion has been noted. However, I want to make it clear that I will not stand for anymore of infighting from either of you. If you two continue with this feud, I will make sure that you both have plenty of time to settle your differences in the brig. Am I clear?

 **tracks.war.fl:** Yes, sir.

 **prowl.lt.ssd:** Good. I'm leaving now, so you and Jazz can finish up your little chat—provided certain topics are left out, of course. Good day, gentlemechs.

 

> >USER ID:*** has left room

**jmunkey.sp.ops:** I really fucking hate when he does that.

 **tracks.war.fl:** I agree completely, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing Red Alert will be taking a much _**deserved**_ break.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** You alright, babe?

 **tracks.war.fl:** As well as I can be. Did Blaster see...? I mean, you know I never meant to let that happen, right? What happened between Raoul and I was not... Things just got...out of hand.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Look, Tracks. Blaster ain't gonna leave you over this, okay? Hell, he's completely cool with the whole idea and so am I.

 **tracks.war.fl:** You seriously did not just condone me having sex with a minor.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** What? You've only got a little bit over a year till he's legal.

 **tracks.war.fl:** Raoul won't be of age for roughly another two years, six months, and twelve days. When he'll be _eighteen_ and legally an adult according to Earth law.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Nice to see I ain't the only mech with a jailbait wait going on...

 **tracks.war.fl:** I most certainly am _**not**_ doing what you think I'm doing!

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Sure you aren't... By the way, eighteen is what the age of consent is in California. See, it actually varies by country and state. And the age of consent in New York is—

 **tracks.war.fl:** Jazz, dearest, as much I would love to learn more about your disturbingly well researched study on this matter, I'm already late in getting Raoul. Poor boy is probably worried to death... So have a good afternoon and send my love to Blaster. Oh, and please tell Prowl he can kiss the filthiest part of my exhaust valve next time you talk to him.

 **jmunkey.sp.ops:** Will do, fancy fenders! See ya'!

 

> >USER ID:jmunkey.sp.ops has left the room

***~~~ **Cosmos Hopes You Have A Better Day, Mister Fancy Fenders!** ~~~***

 **tracks.war.fl:** …

 **tracks.war.fl:** Thank you, Cosmos.

 

> >USER ID:tracks.war.fl has closed the room
> 
> >Closing commline. Logging off relay server #44769.87.ny.ny.us

**\- - -**

Raoul quickly snuffed out the cigarette when he saw the familiar blue Corvette come up the street, the afternoon sun flashing over a sleek chassis and lovingly polished chrome. Feeling grateful that the guys hadn't stuck around to tease him for leering again, he hobbled off the steps to his feet and limped to towards Tracks. He knew it was going to be hard enough explaining away his current condition without the big guy grilling Pop and Rocksteady as well.

“Are you alright?” He barely gone a yard before the disguised robot swooped in to help, leaving the boy even more thankful that nobody else was around to see Tracks practically carry him to the curb. “Dear lord, you look like you've been hit by semi.”

“I'm fine,” Raoul muttered, ignoring the stinging in his side. “Just tripped going up the stairs this morning.”

“You've been like this all day?” The Autobot looked shocked as he helped him into the passenger seat. “Why didn't you call me?”

“I'm fine.” He repeated. “The nurse took a look at me and said I'd be fine. It's not a big deal.”

“Are you sure you're alright? I'd swear it seems more like you've been beaten—.”

“I said I'm fine! Look, I just took a little tumble down the stairs. It's nothing, okay?” It hurt like hell to talk but Raoul couldn't stand the way Tracks kept staring at him. “Really, I'm fine. It...I just fell, all right?”

“So you just tripped and fell down the stairs?”

“Yeah, that's what happened. I was walking down the hall and got shoved by some asshole. Happens all the damn time.”

Tracks raised an eyebrow at him. “Someone knocked you down?”

“What?...no! I...I tripped on the stairs.”

Then came that little huff of air and the growl he'd been dreading.

“Please, stop lying to me.”

“I ain't lying! I told you, I just tripped and fell going up the stairs!”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Raoul,” Tracks began quietly. “You just said that someone shoved you in the hallway.”

“Eh...yeah...”

“So you weren't on the stairs?”

“Yes I was! I... I was going downstairs, this jackass runs into me, and I fell. See? Told you it was nothing!”

“And how you'd get the black eye?”

“...I hit the floor pretty damn hard.” Raoul squirmed miserably. “Look, will you just let it rest? So I tripped going up some stairs? You think it's easy walking with these-” He angrily shook his crutches. “It's fucking impossible to do shit walking around on these fucking things!”

“I understand. But there's something wrong...”

“What?”

“You said you tripped going / _up_ / the stairs?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You just told me you were going / _downstairs_ /, not up.”

“Who the fuck cares! All I know is that those fuckers jumped me in the stairwell and-” Raoul snapped, then stopped when he realized what just slipped out.

“Who did this?” There was a serious hiss of anger in Tracks voice now. “Who was it?!”

“Don't worry about it, okay? Those shitheads will get theirs in the battle tonight...”

“Battle?!” Tracks hit the brakes so hard he nearly got rear-ended by a cabbie. “First you're getting ambushed in school and now there's a battle going on?!”

“It ain't that kind of battle, big guy! See, a bunch of crews get together some place like a park or a club and we see who's got the best moves. Winner gets bragging rights and the losers get shit.”

“So it's a dance competition? You got into a fight over a _dance_?!”

“No. I got into a fight because Lil' Willie called my mother a junkie whore!” Raoul exploded in anger. “Son of bitch had no fuckin' right to say shit! Mom was a fuckin' saint compared to that crackhead cunt!”

“Raoul!” Tracks stared at him in shock.

“Don't you fucking say it!” he roared angrily. “Don't you fuckin' tell me to watch my mouth! If you'd heard all the shit I've heard said about my mother, you'd be losing your shit too! They've always been talkin' about her like she was the nastiest whore in the whole fucking city. The neighbors, the assholes at school...The cops wrote her off as just another junkie...” Raoul was shaking, choking back sobs. “Even those goddamn harpies from Queens were calling her a whore at the funeral, telling my old man how much better off we were without her...”

Tracks pulled over and gently put his arm around the boy's shoulder. “It'll be alright. I'm right here for you.”

“I'm fine.” Raoul hissed, jerking away suddenly. “I'm... I'm just _fine_!”

“You're crying...” He reached out again, this time offering a handkerchief.

“I said I'm _**fine**_. Now lay off!” The boy scrubbed at his tears with his sleeve.

“Very will.” Tracks tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “But if you ever want to talk about this—or anything at all—please, don't hesitate to come to me.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Raoul turned away from him. “Just forget I ever brought that up.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence with the boy staring vacantly out the window to avoid looking at Tracks. As soon as they reached the apartment, Raoul quickly vanished into his bedroom, not even noticing Teletran-42 waving and chirping excitedly at him.

“How's your day been?” he muttered absently as he flopped onto the bed.

Teletran-42 happily pointed to a floating panel over her desk, chattering away in Nebulan. It took her a moment to realize he didn't understand, so she spoke in haltingly, “You got massage!”

“I got a _what_?”

“You got massage!” she repeated and pointed back to the panel, which Raoul realized was a tiny screen.

“Okay... bring it up.”

Grinning, Teletran-42 waved at the panel causing it to expand into two large screens, one showing that hick with the Bug and the other some guy in glasses Raoul had never seen before. She also triggered a tiny, rounded box to pop out of the computer's frame and hover about a yard in front of his face.

“...I really don't think this is a good idea,” Spike grumbled, loosening his tie.

“Aw, come on! Having a little meet-up is a great idea! Wait. I think he's online...” The guy in glasses turned his attention to Raoul and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you! You receiving the video feed okay?”

“Eh, yeah. And who the hell are you?”

“Sorry! Chip Chase,” answered the guy in glasses while he glanced at something off-screen. “You must be Raoul, right?”

“Yes. Hey, what the hell is this about?”

“Chip got it into his head to have a little 'meet-up' and introduce you to some of the other Autobots via this big computer get-together thing,” Spike muttered. “That is, if Bee can get the security system to stop assuming everyone is a threat and knocking us off the line.”

“Why the hell is it doing that?”

Spike shrugged. “I don't have a clue. The whole damn thing went haywire almost as soon as Red left. You don't want to know how long it took Chip to set up an alternate line with Cosmos.”

“Cosmos?”

“***~~~ **Cosmos Says Hi**! **(^__^)~~~***** ” went the brilliant green letters scrolling seemingly out of thin air.

Raoul stared at it for a moment. “...the fuck?”

“Don't worry. Cosmos friendly,” Spike said with a sigh. “He's just a bit...odd. All Cosmos does all day is hover around in orbit, keep an eye out for Decepticons, and relay messages. Other than that, he's a total space cadet.”

“ _***_ ~~~ **(** **ಥ** **_** **ಥ** **)** ~~~***”

“You made the guy cry, man. At least, I _think_ that means he's crying...” Raoul muttered, squinting at the scrolling text. “So,what's up with the suit? You just get married to your cousin or something?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No. I just came back from visiting my mom. It's her birthday today.”

“And she made you dress up?” Raoul laughed. “Oh man... Guess you took her out some place fancy, like Burger King or whatever you hillbillies have up there in Washington.”

“My mother's been dead for eight years.”

There was a long pause, then Raoul said quietly, “I...Sorry about that, man.”

He shrugged it off. “It's fine. Really, I'm surprised you didn't make some kind of crack about the sheep getting jealous and whacking her...”

“Hey, I ain't gonna talk shit about somebody's dead mother. Besides, whatever you do with the livestock is your own damn business.”

Spike laughed. “Now that sounds more like you. I was beginning to think Tracks had turned you into another Bluestreak.”

“Who?”

“He's one of the Datsuns. You meet him a few years back, the guy that was hanging around Sideswipe with the door-wing things.”

“You mean the one who just would not shut up for even a second?” Raoul said with a miserable moan. “Oh god... that guy was a total fruitcake!”

“Yeah, well from what I heard happened to him, it's a surprise Blue's not cracked completely and gone a killing spree...” muttered Spike darkly.

“You're kidding, right? That guy acted like he'd piss himself and faint if he ever got in a real fight.”

“And that's why Blue creeps the hell out of me. Most of the time, he's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. Chatty as hell, but really nice. When he gets _quiet_ , things go bad.”

Before Raoul could get a chance to ask for an explanation, Chip let out a happy whoop and another screen popped up. There was a very feminine gray face with a slightly confused expression staring back.

“Am I coming in now?” Arcee asked, reaching down to fiddle with something.

“Just fine,” answered Chip with a dopey grin on his face. “Sorry it took so long, but Cosmos and I were having trouble finding enough bandwidth to support another feed. Anyway... Arcee, this is Raoul. Raoul, Arcee.”

“Hi! Nice to finally see you,” she said with a smile as she settled back into her chair.

“Hi, you...” Raoul stammered as he looked at the almost obscene number of guns decorating the walls behind her. “You're nothing like I expected from the pictures...”

Her expression darkened. “Pictures? What / _pictures_ /?”

“Don't worry, Arcee,” Chip hummed as he put away whatever he'd been working on and turned his full attention to her. “Tracks only asked me for the ones of you before and after your upgrades. Oh, and some of the concept art they drew up...”

“Primus...” She groaned miserably. “I cannot believe you kept those, let alone gave them out other people...”

“What? I think you look pretty cute!”

“Yeah,” snickered Raoul. “Princess Leia is a real improvement over lookin' like the fucking Predator.”

She frowned, then growled, “They turned me into a thirty-foot tall, pink action figure! And Sunny even got George Lucas to personally approve this chassis design!”

“Excuse me!” huffed a voice from a blank pop-up that suddenly appeared. “That was all Grapple's idea! _**I**_ wanted to base the design off Traci Lords, but then those silly little squishies got offended and Optimus forced me to scrape all my work!”

“Wasn't she that girl who was acting in pornos underage?” Spike asked. “And how the hell did you get on this line?”

“Technically, all the references I used were _after_ she came of age,” grumbled the blank screen, pointedly ignoring the other question. “But I, in a gesture of goodwill and faith, went back to the drawing board to draw up some new concept designs. And then those little monkeys had the gall to tell me that I couldn't use them because they were based off of Norma Jean Baker! They said it was 'a sexist fantasy'! Called it a 'tribute to the patriarchal oppression of the female' after I tried to explain how I was trying to mirror the ideals of female human beauty. Then they turned right around and criticized my alternative models for being based upon Delta Burke because she was 'too fat'! What the slag is _**wrong**_ with your species?!”

“Sunny, we tried to warn you... Playboy Bunnies and prissy Southern belles were not good ideas, _”_ Spike muttered.

“I dunno,” Raoul said with a grin. “Having a thirty-foot tall centerfold might've been awesome.”

Arcee loudly cleared her vents. “I hate to spoil your fun boys, but Sunny? Aren't you suppose to be on patrol?”

“What the hell do you think I'm doing? I've been combing this forsaken wasteland for _cycles_! And I ain't seen one fucking thing! Just take a look!” Sunny's screen abruptly flashed from black to a heavily forested and rocky mountain trail. By the way the image kept wobbling and moving, Raoul assumed Sunny was showing them a feed from some kind of camcorder. “All I see are pine trees, pine trees, and _**MORE PINE TREES**_!”

Arcee rolled her eyes. “That's a good sign, Sunny. It means no 'cons.”

“Oh no it ain't good!” he snapped back while the camera jerked and panned around. “If I've gotta be out here getting this sticky shit and dirt all over my aft, there better be _something_ for me beat the every loving fuck out of! I'm ruining my paint-job just because that idiot brother of mine went off his fucking meds again. And if this shit doesn't come off after a shower, I'm going to personally give him a reason to stay in the med bay...”

“Brother?” Raoul asked. “You guys have brothers? Christ, don't tell me you all can get knocked up or some shit!”

“Eh? What is that little monkey babbling about, Arcee?”

“He didn't know you guys could have families, Sunny,” Chip explained, not giving Raoul a chance to respond the the monkey bit. “Actually, that does raise a really interesting question: Just how do you all reproduce? I was aware that, being machines, you were able to just build other robots, but that doesn't explain how you and Sideswipe are twins or how you both are related to Red Alert as brothers? Is it an honorific? Or are you three true biological—eh, technological siblings?”

“Uh...what?” Sunny's tone shifted from bitchy to confusion. “I don't know how this crap works with you freaky little vermin! But Sides and I were sparked from the same seed crystal, built on the same production line, and had the bad luck to belong to the same model series as Red Alert.”

“Seed crystal?” Chip could barely contain his excitement as he grabbed up a notebook and a pen. “So you're saying that sparks are formed from a kind of crystal?”

“Chip, no.” Arcee butted in again, this time looking a bit worried. “I've already told you we cannot talk about this kind of thing. It's illegal according to galactic law...not to mention downright sacrilegious to talk about the Allspark this way...”

“Oh, fuck that religious slag!” Sunny barked. “Why shouldn't we tell our lil' squishies about sparks? It ain't like the new monkey hasn't already been getting up close and way to personal with Tracks' overrated old aft. Probably lets him put his nasty little paws right in his lasercore...”

Before Raoul could snap something vile back, Chip jumped in and started hurling questions at him.

“You've seen a laser core?! What did it look like? How big was it? Did you actually handle the spark itself? And if so, did you experience any kind of unusual sensations? Describe everything in as much detail as you possibly can, please! How long were you expo—”

“Hold it! Just fucking hold it, four-eyes!” Choking down a couple of pills to numb the creeping pain, Raoul glared at Chip. “I don't even know what the hell you're talking about! The only thing I've seen under the big guy's hood was a car engine. There maybe a couple of weird wires here and there, sure, but it was just a regular old 427 ZLX Chevy Big-Block. Okay? No sparks. No lasers. Just a slightly supped up engine.”

“Oh...” Chip wilted a bit, then perked up as he began scribbling down notes again. “So, if that's not how you two are doing things, then how about you let me know if the holoforms really...um, fully _functional_? Percy's and Jack both really want to know if their modifications worked out.”

“What do ya' mean function— _ **Oh no...**_ ” growled Raoul angrily. “No, you did not just ask what I think you just asked me...”

Arcee was gaping at screen in shock while Spike barely held back his laughter. There was also a vague gagging sound and creepy mutterings coming from Sunny's feed.

“Chip,” Arcee began. “That's not exactly the kind of thing you ask someone in a public chat...”

“Oh! Right... Sorry about that!” Chip started typing again. “Raoul, give me one second and I'll see if Cosmos can set us up a private chat. And, hey! Maybe we can get Wheeljack or Perceptor on and you can tell them all about it...”

“When hell freezes over, you four-eyed pervert.”

“What? It's a perfectly legitimate question. I mean, it's pretty obvious you two are—”

“Chip!” Spike interrupted, his giggling turned to concern. “I really don't think he wants to talk about it. I know you'd be pissed too if a bunch of strangers started asking you about your sex life.”

“What sex life?” muttered Chip bitterly. “I can't even find anyone who isn't freaked out about the sling over my bed.”

Raoul suddenly let out a nasty laugh. “Slings? _**Seriously**_? A geek like you is into that shit?”

“It's really not like that at all.” Chip grumbled. “See, I have a condition that—”

“Can we please stop with the squishy sex talk now?!” rasped Sunny miserably. “You both grossing me out over here! Besides, we have much more important things to discuss right now...”

There was now a large, slightly camouflaged door now dominating Sunny's screen. It slide open, revealing two robots manning what looked to Raoul like a futuristic security guard’s desk. He vaguely recognized Sideswipe as the one taking a nap with his feet propped up on the desk. Behind him, Bluestreak was sitting in the floor quietly cleaning his rifle with a positively stoned grin on his face. The camera panned sharply to Bluestreak as Sunny started talking again.

“Say hello Blue!” When there was no response, Sunny repeated the question, then snapped at him.

Bluestreak's head jerked up as if he'd just woke up, then he smiled and started babbling in what Raoul guessed was Cybertronian. It was less like talking and more like a baby bird hooked up to a synthesizer.

There was a husky rumble from behind the camera, but Bluestreak kept on chirpping happily along. Finally, there came a horrifying roar that made the silver Autobot shut up.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Raoul jerked back in panic, almost throwing the computer across the room.

“Whoa! You alright?” Spike asked.

Raoul nodded, forcing a smile as he settled back again. “Fine...just fine. What...what the hell was that?”

“That would be our darling sunshine's normal voice... Sounds like a real angel, doesn't he?” replied Spike with a equally half-hearted grin. “Him and the other 'bots often lapse into robot talk. You get used to it eventually.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me!” huffed Sunny as a pair of black hands flung themselves in front of the camera and ran over what Raoul now realized was the robot's face. “You snap at him all the time too, monkey boy!”

Bluestreak cheeped apologetically and scampered away as Sunny turned his attention to Sideswipe.

“This useless pile of scrap is my dear twin.” He kicked the chair, but Sideswipe only shifted in the seat and snorted. Sunny growled something nasty then kicked the chair out from under his twin.

Sideswipe got up hissing and snarling, then shoved Sunny back. The video feed turned into a blur of images as the two started wrestling before the screen went black.

There was a brief pause, then yet another screen popped up. Bluestreak smiled sheepishly as the twins argued loudly in the background.

“Hi there!” he chirped brightly. “Sorry about all this... They're both just pissed about having to pull double sentry duty tonight. That and maybe it's 'cause Red's upset and glitching out again that's making them even grumpier than normal. I know I used to get pretty mad whenever my sisters go in trouble...then again, that was mostly cause they'd always take it out on me when the Matron or staff wasn't looking...”

“Sure...” Raoul winced at a the dull bang of metal being struck. He could swear he smelled rancid chop suey... “Shouldn't you stop them or something? Sounds like they're murdering each other.”

“Don't bother,” grumbled Spike. “Knowing Sunstreaker, it'll just end with all of them in the med bay. Again.”

“It wasn't that bad! I just got...carried away...”

“Carried away? Blue, you stabbed Sides in the chest plate so many times it took us all over 12 hours to weld it back together.”

“You're fucking with me,” Raoul hissed. “You seriously want me to believe this flaky dweeb craved up somebody that bad? He's too ditzy to be allowed a pair of safety scissors!”

“Hard to believe, isn't it?” huffed Sideswipe as he popped up over Bluestreak's shoulder. “What's even more embarrassing is he did it with a chunk ripped out of Sunny's arm... By the way, Blue, who are you babbling at?”

“I'm talking with the humans. You know, Spike and...uh, Rupert right?”

“It's Raoul,” the boy snapped. “Geez, what's so damn hard about that? What, did your sisters drop you on your head or something?!”

“Actually, there was this time I fell on my head,” began Bluestreak. “See, my sisters were trying to teach me to fly—our line was all suppose to be jets—by pushing me out of a fifth story window. But when that didn't work, Skydancer and Slipstream decided to take me up to the roof of the creche so I could jump off there. And I...I really don't remember much after that...”

Sideswipe took advantage of the awkward pause to shoo the Datsun out of the chair. “Say Blue, why don't you take my patrol? I'd really love to have a chat with our little squishy friends.”

“I'd love to!” With that, Bluestreak shoulder his rifle and trotted out of the room. In the background, Sunny muttered darkly and angrily scrubbed at his armor with a rag.

“He's such a good kid,” Sideswipe chuckled. “But onto business! I have some _gifts_ I've been meaning to give you, Raoul.”

“Gifts? Wha'cha mean _**gifts**_?”

Before Sideswipe could explain, Arcee cut in curtly. “No, Sides. You know the law.”

“But Arcee...” wheedled the red Autobot. “This is an important cultural exchange! Besides, it'd be unfair of me to share these wonderful gifts of knowledge with the other humans and leave out our new buddy.”

“Oh god!” Spike cried in horror. “Raoul, you _**do not**_ want what he's offering you! Just trust me, you'll be happier that way.”

Chip shrugged. “I didn't think it was that bad. Odd, but interesting.”

“It doesn't matter,” Arcee grumbled. “We are not allowed to share any kind of video file or image that show our inner workings. That's the law as set out in the Treaty of Мир. Also, I really don't want to get another lecture from Ultra Magnus about my own collection.”

“Treaty?” Raoul stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“The Treaty of Мир,” Arcee began, “Is basically a set of laws to prevent a more technologically advanced civilization from interfering with less advanced ones. The reason it was created is because there was a planet called Мир which was roughly at the same technological level as Earth today before a group of arms dealers found it. They started selling ultra-tech gear and weapons to various factions, culminating in a worldwide war . To make a very long story short, the people of Мир ended up literally bombing themselves back to the Stone Age while the arms dealers who started the whole mess were never even brought to court because what they did wasn't illegal according to the law at that time. So it was decided to hold a massive convention with almost every civilized planet sending delegates and they ended up creating the Treaty of Мир to prevent such a tragedy from happening again.”

“So why are you guys even here?” asked Raoul. “Aren't you all in the middle of a war? And don't you count as 'advanced technology' since you're all robots?”

“They're here because the Decepticons are here,” Spike answered. “And they ignore any treaties that don't make them masters of everything. But that does bring up another good question: Why can't you give us something to defend ourselves with?!”

“He's got a point,” purred Sideswipe. “Why can't we let the squishies have some battlesuits? Or how a few combat drones? I've got a line on some really nice spider tanks from this guy who handles old military surplus and—”

“Sides, we've talked about this...” Arcee's vents hissed. “And Spike, you know we can't do anything more than protect you guys. By law, we can't even use anything outside of the technology available on Earth to help because it might be reverse engineered. Otherwise, both Chip and Raoul would have bionic implants by now.”

“Why the hell would I need that?!” snapped Raoul. “My leg's just fine...eh, well, it will be once they take this cast off...”

There were some awkward glance over the comm-screens. Finally, Chip spoke up.

“How much did Tracks tell you about what happened?”

“He didn't have to tell me shit. I was there, you know.”

“So...He told they almost amputated you leg, right?” asked Chip. “And that Buzzsaw chomped it up so badly that even if it heals, you're still looking forward to years of intensive therapy just to walk again.”

“There's...there's no fucking way that's true!” Raoul snarled in disbelief. “If it was, then the big guy would have told me by now.”

“ Maybe Tracks didn't want to make things worse for you,” Chip said with a shrug. “Though that does explain why he's suddenly very interested in the little project me and the lab 'bots were working on.”

“What?!” Arcee stared at him, her vents hissing in frustration. “What did I just say? _**We cannot do that.**_ ”

“Erm, actually....” Looking sheepish, Chip cleared his throat. “It is perfectly legal for us to do that, provided we use materials available on Earth.”

“And I suppose all the blueprints, the surgical knowledge, and building techniques are going to match what's available to the average human too?”

“Uh...well... you see, Arcee, it's like this...kind of a funny story, really...”

While Chip was trying to think of a way to explain himself, Bumblebee's face loomed up behind Spike.

“I hate to break up the party, but I need everyone to wrap this up and log off.” Bumblebee's vent hissed as he rubbed his forehead. “Whatever Red did is going to be much harder to fix than I thought...”

“It's alright, Bee.” Spike turned to the VW and patted his arm. “If you need a hand, I'll be happy to help.” He turned back to the others. “Guess I'll talk to you guys later. Bye.”

On that, Spike's screen went black and then closed out.

“It was nice meeting you, Raoul,” chirped Arcee pleasantly. “Oh, and Chip? I'll _talk_ to you and Jack about this 'little project.' I'm sure Magnus would like to know about it, too...”

Chip paled slightly and looking pleading out from his screen. “Arcee, I really don't think you need to—” She logged out before he could finish. “Damn it! Well, there goes me getting a hover chair...”

“What's the matter, four-eyes? Too weak and feeble to walk like a normal person?”

“Nope. Just thought it be a bit nicer than my wheelchair,” Chip quipped with a halfhearted smirk. “Hopefully, I'll live to see you guys again. Later.”

As Chip logged out, a sly grin creeped across Sideswipe's face. “I'll talk to you later, my little chimp buddy.”

The last screen closed out, leaving only Teletraan-42 standing in her doll-sized office. Then a scrolling line of text rolled above her head.

“ _***_ ~~~ **Cosmos says good-bye and hopes you get well soon, Raoul. (^-^)^** ~~~***”

“Have a good one too, you weirdo,” muttered Raoul as what Chip said started sinking in. He reached down to shut off the computer when a new screen flashed up in front of Teletraan-42's desk. They both stared at it in surprise.

“What the hell....?”

The rapidly flickering text scrolled down it suddenly blinked out and into Sideswipe, still grinning despite the grainy reception.

“Hello again, my monkey friend,” he purred merrily.

“Hey man, watch the monkey cracks,” grumbled Raoul. “And doesn't Bee need this line or something?”

“Oh, I'm not using any of official lines. This one happens to be my own for, shall we say, private ventures. Mostly, I use it for business since many of my...eh, associates aren't exactly on the up and up, if you get me.”

Raoul cocked an eyebrow, matching his grin. “Lemme guess... Their stuff just happens to fall off a truck, right? So what does that make you? Whatever you 'bots consider a made man—eh, machine?”

“No-no! I'm not part of any kind of criminal organization. Especially since those kinds of things don't exist...” He coughed, giving the boy a little wink. “Too hazardous to my health, anyway. I prefer working on the gray market if I can help it. Less trouble with the law that way...”

“Great, just what I need right now! A space guido!”

“And I'm stuck with either a crazy squishy or my twin, the high queen of bitchy narcissistic egos. And don't take this the wrong way, but personally I'm starting to like you, monkey-boy.”

“Aww, is that so?” rasped Raoul, fumbling around for his pills again. “And what if I don't wanna talk to your sorry ass?”

“Oh, don't be that way! I really just want to have a nice chat with you. By the way, for someone of your caste, you ask a lot of questions.”

“So just 'cause I'm not one of those white boys, I'm not allowed to ask a few questions? Ain't like I ever get an invite up to your base...”

“Take it easy! I didn't mean anything bad by that.” A thin metal tube appeared in the Autobot's hand and, rapping it sharply on the desk, he took a drag off it. “Just that most people like us know better than to get too nosy, you get me?”

Sunny came up from behind and snatched the tube from his brother. “Hey Sides,” he said with a nasty laugh as he took a hit. “Tell him about how you got shot in the aft for fencing that shipment of vaporizers! You know, the ones 'fell' off that transport going to Blue Bacchus' warehouse?”

Sideswipe flipped his twin off and, taking back what Raoul figured was a joint, continued leisurely. “Anyway, seeing as you're the bright, curious type, I figured I'd throw you a bone so to speak. So how about it? You wanna learn something about the _**real**_ Cybertron and the glories of actual civilization? _”_

“Oh, this is gonna be good...” chimed in Sunny, taking another hit. “Just remember, Sides, when Prowler toss your sorry aft in the brig again, don't come whining to me about it. And if Arcee catches you first, I'm going to laugh when she kicks your skidplate.”

“What the hell is her deal, anyway?” Raoul asked, choking down a pill. “She seemed really cool about things till four-eyes brought up that spark thing. For a bunch of machines, you're really fucking touchy.”

“Uh, it's kind of a sensitive issues with pinky dearest,” replied Sideswipe, clearing his vents with a ragged cough. “From what we were able to find out, her creator was a mad scientist who used her and her siblings as guinea pigs in some kind of really fucked up experiments. Kup doesn't let anybody ask just _**what**_ those experiments were, only that it left Arcee a bit messed up in the processor.”

“And it's also the reason we can't leave her alone with either Wheeljack or Skyfire anymore...” added Sunny, boggarting the last of the joint. “Oh, and just a heads up monkey-boy... I'd stop saying we're just 'machines' when you talk about us.”

“Why? You guys keep tossing shit like 'monkey-boy' and 'chimpy' talking about us humans. It's only fair.”

“Look, _**ape**_ , you better just stop right there before I—”

“Before you _what_ , fucker? Last time I checked, you're all the way on the other side of the country, you ugly yellow junker.”

“Oh, don't think I can't get there real quick, you disgusting little vermin.”

Raoul let out a laugh. “Yeah, I'd really like to see you do that. You'll blow a fucking gasket half-way through Vegas, you cheap piece of Italian trash.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” growled Sunny, his voice quiet but filled with rage.

“I called you trash. Which is exactly what a Lamborghini is: over-priced fucking garbage. All flash with nothing under the hood to back it up!”

“At least I've got enough dignity to not let myself be used like damn drone by a nasty little organic skidmark, unlike that filthy pervert—.”

Sideswipe jumped up quickly and, growling something in Cybertronian, dragged Sunny outside. They were gone several minutes before Sideswipe came back in, fresh joint in hand. “For fuck's sake, monkey-boy. You just had to get him started, didn't you? It's took the last of my stash to get him quieted down and Beachcomber ain't going to have more for another fucking lunar cycle...”

“I'm not a goddam monkey, asshole,” Raoul snarled.

“Yeah, yeah... I know. You're technically apes since you don't have tails,” Sideswipe muttered, casually waving off the glare he got. “But I think it's high time somebody explains a few things to you, since Tracks is too prissy to talk about it. See, we don't take being treated like products too kindly. It's gotta do with the Quints.”

“Quints?” Interested, Raoul decided to humor him. “What are they?”

“First, I'm gonna need a drink...” Sideswipe reached under the desk and pulled out a giant sized can with alien characters on it. It hissed when he popped the cap, then tossed back a gulp. “Okay... Many, many fucking eons ago, this group of ugly slaggers called the Quintessons invaded Cybertron and enslaved all life on the planet, including Primus himself. Then they created factories to convert our kind into...into _**product**_ , see? Military hardware, domestic helpers, pleasure slaves, all that kind of crap.” He cringed at the thought, pounding back the rest of his drink. “To save you a long, boring history lesson, the first two Primes lead a rebellion and we eventually threw those fucking squids off our homeworld. Though they did do one good thing, in my opinion, by giving us units.”

“Units? Of what, robo-weed?”

“I'm talking about gearboxes, Raoul. You know... The undercarriage? The rod and valve? One's personal junk in the trunk? The good old private parts?”

He started slightly, blinking in surprise. “You're telling me you guys didn't have anything between you legs before those Quint guys came along?”

“Not a fucking thing. Neuter down to the last protoform!” declared Sideswipe. “Shit, there's still guys out there who either never got anything installed or had their units removed. Poor bastards...”

“You're telling me some of you guys chop you dicks off? Damn, that's fucked up.”

“Oh, it's worse. They take out _**everything**_ down there. Valve, rod, and all that is good in life...gone with just a few swipes of a laser-scalpel. Just one big, empty space in the pelvic region.”

Raoul curled his lip. “Fuck man! How do you take even take a piss like that?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean draining tanks? That's a completely different set of tubes, though usually those are run through most standard unit assemblies. Makes it easier to take care of your business, know what I'm saying?”

“That's just fantastic...” muttered Raoul in mildly disgust. “Really, I was just dying to know how you guys take a shit and all. But this unit shit means you can also get knocked up, right?”

“Knocked up? You mean pregnant? As in reproducing via injecting material into the receiver, who then has to carry what basically is a parasitic tumor for an extended length of time, often to their own detriment, only to have the afore mentioned parasite violently exit them once it's developed enough to survive in the outside world?” Sideswipe's expression was deadly serious, then he suddenly broke into a convulsive laughing fit. When he calmed down, he said simply, “That's just gross, my little monkey friend. No, we are not able to get pregnant. The very concept is just...it's just so insanely nasty that no right thinking species in the known universe subjects themselves willingly to such a state. They've got tanks and factories for that shit.”

“So why the fuck do you even bother fucking?”

“Because it's fun.” While Raoul was gaping in surprise, Sideswipe continued. “See? This is exactly why, as a member of an obviously superior species, it's my _**duty**_ to enlighten your pathetically backwards ass.”

“You know I can just log off, right?”

“You could do that,” mused the Lamborghini. “But you _won't_ , because I'm offering you something that no one else is... Real fucking answers.”

Raoul simply rolled his eyes and snapped, “Right. And just what the hell makes me think you're not yanking my chain?”

“Alright, how about I give you some proof that I'm sincere about this?”

After a short pause to consider the offer, Raoul's curiosity won out again over his increasingly bad mood. “Okay. But this better be damn good...”

“Oh, you won't be disappointed!” chuckled Sideswipe, quickly tapping out something on his keyboard.

A few seconds later, a tiny package appeared on Teletraan-42's desk. She studied it with mild amusement, chirping in Nebulan while poking at it.

“What is that?” Raoul asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. “This...this isn't going do something to her, is it?”

“Concerned about a cloned OS? That's just...cute.” Sideswipe snickered nastily. “Just open it already.”

Raoul reached out and quickly tapped the package, causing it to burst open. Out spewed a massive pirate's chest, a pile of little boxes that scattered all over her 'office', and a hurricane papers. He watched nervously as Teletraan-42 darted around, grabbing the little holographic pages and stuffing them into her filing cabinets. Once she was done, she rounded angrily on Raoul.

“How could you?!” she snapped with what Raoul swore was an Australian accent. “Accepting downloads from strangers? Without so much as a quick scan?! I might've gotten a virus! Or been hacked! Don't you even care?”

“I...I'm sorry,” he stammered in mild shock, still reeling over her sudden improved ability to speak English.

“You should be!” Teletraan-42 huffed, then turned her attention to cleaning up the rest of the mess.

“What the hell was that?” Raoul griped at Sideswipe while she started opening the little boxes.

“It's part of an upgrade package. The installer had to jailbreak your palmtop first though, so you might need a new firewall. Just in case...” When Sideswipe just got a blank look, he sighed. “It's a bunch of little additions to take off the limits Tracks put on your OS.”

“Limits? To _what_? Shit! Just being able to talk to anybody like this would make ever geek, egghead, and nerd in the Tri-states cream his fucking jeans! This thing's a fucking miracle machine!”

“I am not a thing!” snapped Teletraan-42 suddenly with a stamp of her foot. “I am the A.I. administrator and a high-capacity, real-time operating system with superior multitasking abilities who also possess one of the most highly rated holographic interfaces in the known Universe!”

Sideswipe took a drag off his joint. “The Teletraan systems are also the most common interface on Cybertron and therefore one of the most easily exploited.”

“You stay out this you...you... you very naughty person!” she barked, glaring at him. “I've already been told all about your kind.”

“Raoul, I also sent you a couple of shell personas if you want make Miss Prissy here a bit more fun... They're in the chest, along with some other fun things.”

“Really?” Curious, Raoul reached toward it, causing Teletraan-42 to shrieked in fear and jump in front of his hand.

“NO! Don't listen to that awful, awful person!” There were tears glistening in her eyes as she looked up at the boy. “I don't wanna have a horrible shell on me!”

“Why not? It's just a computer program. It's not gonna hurt you, right?” He glanced back at Sideswipe. “Right?”

“Depends on what you mean by 'hurt'...” answered the Autobot vaguely. “A persona shell is kind of like...uh, clothes. Yeah! That's it. They're just like those clothes things you humans put on.”

“No they are not! They're horrible, terrible, awful things!”

“Don't worry,” Raoul said with a sigh as he patted Teletraan-42 on her head. “I'm not going to put one those shells on you. I just wanna see what else in the chest.”

“You promise you won't?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Huh?”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring Sideswipes snickering. “Yeah, I promise. Just let me see what's in the chest.”

Keeping a wary eye on him, Teletraan-42 opened the chest's lid and peeked inside. Immediately, she slammed it closed again and a mass of chains with comically huge locks appeared all over it before he could react.

“Hey! What gives?” Raoul poked the little hologram in annoyance. “I told you I wasn't gonna put a shell on you. Let me see what's in there!”

“I can't!” she chirped back, embarrassed by whatever she'd seen. “You're not suppose to be looking at those kind of things.”

“Oh come on... Just one little peek? Pretty please?”

Teletraan-42 shook her head angrily, a bright blush coming to her cheeks. “No-no! It's too _dirty_!”

“You know you can turn her off, right? It's really not too hard, even for a monkey to do,” Sideswipe murmured. “You actually don't need to have a hologram admin to run things, since they're just added in to make it easier for kids and the illiterate to use programs. Just switch her over to a basic GUI and you won't have to put with this crap.”

“He won't do that! Raoul's a nice person, not a big mean jerk like you!” She turned and looked pleadingly at the boy. “You wouldn't turn me off, would you? We are friends, right?”

“Yeah. We're friends...” Raoul replied, not sure what else to say. He ignored that Sideswipe had implied he was an illiterate monkey for the moment and put on his most charming smile as an idea came to him. “And since we are friends, would you do me a little favor? It's nothing much. I mean friends do nice things for each other, right?”

“Oh yes-yes! What do you need me to do?”

“Let me see what's in the chest.”

“But...but I can't,” Teletraan-42 muttered as she looked down at her feet. “I'm not supposed to let you look at that kind of thing. Tracks said so.”

“Knew it!” snapped Sideswipe. “She's got a content-control subroutine...”

Raoul looked at him in confusion. “And that means...?”

“That you can't look at dirty things! Only the kind of things that will enrich a young mind,” Teletraan-42 chirped proudly.

“But who says what's in that box won't enrich my young mind?” purred Raoul. “I mean, art is suppose to be enriching right?”

“I guess so...”

“And sometimes art has things that only _seem_ dirty, you follow me?”

“I suppose...”

“So if that's all true, then maybe those aren't really dirty but are actually art.” Raoul kept smiling sweetly at her, laying the charm on thick. “Now, why don't you let me see what's in the chest?”

She hesitated a moment, then opened the chest. “Okay. But if this turns out to just be smut, you better delete it or I'm telling Tracks! I mean it!”

“Sure, sure...” Raoul tapped the chest, causing it to burst open and scatter files all over Teletraan-42's office again. “Uh, sorry about that...”

Glaring, Teletraan-42 started cleaning up the new mess while Raoul dug around for a promising file. He choose one at random and, cautiously tapping it, brought up the image viewer and an image of a blue Starscream clone posing with his back to the camera and various panels opened to show off the machinery beneath.

“ _This_ is what you guys consider hot?” he grumbled in disappointment, frowning at Sideswipe.

The red Lamborghini just sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh ye of little taste! I'll have you know that is considered to be a classic pin-up poster. Granted, Thundercracker is on the Decepticons' side and all, but he still has one mighty fine aft...”

“I'll take your word for it...” muttered the boy as he scrolled through more pictures, all of them involving Thundercracker posing like gym bunny. He was about to close out of the gallery when something very... _imposing_ caught his eye.

“That...that can't be what I think it is...”

“Oh, it is, my squishy little friend.” Sideswipe snickered, his grin widening. “It's _**exactly**_ what you think.”

Raoul just stared. “Holy fuck, man. I mean...Jesus! That...that thing's gotta be fake! Even for giant robots, that just can't be fucking real!”

“Oh, it's real. Very, very real. Just...uh, trust me on that.”

“What, you blow him or something?” Raoul asked, thoroughly enjoying the guilty, embarrassed look he got out of the Lamborghini.

“In my defense, I was really overcharged at the time...”

“Overcharged my aft!” barked Sunny from somewhere in the background. “You were dead fuckin' sober and loving every nanoklik of it!'”

“This coming from the glitch who bitched about a sore aft and scuffed chassis for _weeks_ afterwards...” growled Sideswipe quietly. When he saw the shocked look on Raoul's face, he just sighed. “Look, I'm gonna level with you, monkey boy. TC might be technically one of the 'bad guys', but the guy actually kind of likes you humans.”

“Sure he does...” He quickly closed out of the gallery and yawned. “Look man, as creepy as your family bonding moments are, did you send me anything _interesting_? Besides the Bionic John Holmes here...”

“Oh, there's _**plenty**_ of stuff there to keep you interested. In fact, I made sure to include several video files of a certain snobby, low-flying Corvette just for you, my new monkey friend.”

“Really? Just what kind of videos?”

Before Sideswipe could answer, a pale hand clamped down on his shoulder as a cold voice cut in. “I'm more interested in _how_ you got that footage. And why you've decided to, among other things, use an unauthorized line to send pornography to a minor...”

“Well, looks like Officer McPrick has arrived, so I'm afraid I have to be going now... Nice talking to you, Raoul.” Sideswipe got up from the chair, allowing the newcomer—who looked like a white clone of Bluestreak— to set down.

“In accordance to the law, I am required to advise you that you need to immediately delete all the files you just received from the twins since possession of almost all of them constitutes as owning contraband,” said Bluestreak's sour-faced double. “I would have removed the files personally via a remote access, but since all official servers and lines are down I am going to have to place you on the honor system. I trust that you will act in total compliance with the law, won't you Raoul?”

“Oh, sure, Officer McPrick!” replied the boy with a grin. “You can trust me, sir.”

“My name is Prowl. And once communications are fully restored, I will contact you to ensure that the original files Sideswipe sent you have been removed. If you have not deleted the original files you were sent, then I will have to remove your ability to access any authorized line outside of an emergency. Is that understood?”

A futuristic-looking photocopier materialized next to Teletraan-42's desk and Raoul noticed that Sideswipe was winking at him from behind Prowl.

“Gotcha', Officer Prowl, sir,” he said happily, taking the hint. “I'll be sure to get rid of the original files that I received. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“That will be all. Have a good day.” With that, Prowl cut the feed and the screen closed out abruptly.

“Asshole...” Raoul muttered, then turned his attention to the copier. “All right, let's get down to business...”

Before he could even try to figure out how to use the tiny machine, Teletraan-42 grabbed his finger and gave him a nasty little shock.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“You heard what the lieutenant said!” snapped Teletraan-42. “You have to delete all these files because they're illegal.”

“No. He said I had to get rid of the _original_ files. McPrick didn't say anything about not copying them first...”

For a moment, the little hologram looked upset but thought about it for a moment. “Well, yeah... I guess Prowl didn't say anything about keeping copies...” She went over to the chest, glancing inside it longingly. “And there are some really pretty skins in here for me to wear and decorate with...”

“How about this: You make me those copies and quit nagging me about looking at porn, and I swear on my mother's grave to never let anyone put a shell program on you?” Raoul smiled at Teletraan-42. “We got a deal?”

“It's a deal!” chirped the hologram, happily shaking Raoul's finger before gleefully setting to work copying everything.

Sitting the computer on his nightstand, Raoul watched with a lazy amusement as she somehow managed to fit entire files, several wardrobes' worth of clothes, and even a whole sofa into the copier. As fantastic as it was, he still couldn't help dozing off into a medicated sleep while Teletraan-42 was merrily trying on her newly gotten costumes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Stage 01-04: Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when life starts getting back to normal, a strange little man appears to cause trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Disclaimer: There will be ethnic slurs, stalking triggers, drug abuse/self-medicating triggers, PSTD triggers, and likely badly translated Japanese ahoy. Phrases used do not reflect the views of the author and are used for narrative reasons. Except the bit about the hovercraft and eels.]

            It had been one of the happiest days in his life when that cast finally came off and, after a few days adjusting to hobbling around on a cane, Tracks finally loosening up enough to let Raoul go out again on his own. Sure, he still had to call in whenever he was going to be out after 8:30 at night but at least it was better than the 6 pm curfew the big guy had used to keep him under. And, god, was it great to be out with the Bop Crew again, even if he was stuck on the sidelines for now. He was cool with being the bankroll in addition to being self-appointed manager and promotions department, despite the guys insisting he didn't have to.  But now his freedom was again being threatened by a strange little creeper.

 

Raoul had barely limped down the steps when he caught sight of the creeper slinking along the chain-link fence around the basketball court. He cringed and started hobbling a little faster, nearly tripping over his feet in a rush to catch up with Pop and Rocksteady.  It was a bit stupid of him but lately Raoul couldn't stand being alone, especially not when the creeper was around. He just wrote him off at first as being somebody's friend or a cousin, but nobody Raoul asked seemed to know who the creeper was. He tried to shrug it off as a coincidence until one day he'd noticed the creeper had  followed him and the guys to the subway, even going out of the way to sit right across from them despite how empty the rest of the car was.

 

 It took about a week of this before it finally dawned on Raoul that the creeper had been lurking around since he had left the hospital, watching him behind those freaky wrap-around shades like a vulture in Adidas. The creeper had been hanging around in the shadows when he'd gone with the guys to take on some punks from Queens, always lurking just at the edge of the park whenever Raoul passed by, and the little shit had even been perched in a back booth that one time last week when he snuck out for a burger with Isabel from second period.

 

            The last straw came two days ago when Raoul paid a visit to one of his uncle's old buddies, Lenny the Benny-Man. He might not have gone to see the crazy old bastard but those pills the doctors kept shoving at him had left him feeling like a goddamn zombie. What he really needed was something that would juice him up and, if he could trust the word on the street, Lenny had gotten a some nice fresh Florida snow which he was selling off at cost. Besides, even if that cranked-out goatbanger was out of coke, Raoul knew he always had some speed stashed away for a rainy day…or one of his favorite old customers.

 

            Raoul slipped out of class that sunny morning and managed to limp all the way to Astoria. As he went past Markov’s Deli to get to the apartments above, Raoul thought he saw the creeper talking with a very nicely dressed pair of tourists, a leggy guy with pink tea-shades and one really cute redhead in a sweater. When he looked back to make sure, there was only the tourist girl who smiled at him before running off after her boyfriend. Red was actually much prettier than Raoul first thought and he briefly considered giving chase, but shrugged it off,  reminding himself that she undoubtedly was just another one of the dumb Eurotrash cunts that infested this neighborhood like cockroaches. He did his best to keep looking like the tough guy despite how lightheaded he felt and forced himself to climb both the near vertical flights of stairs.

 

            Much to his uneasy, he noticed that Lenny’s door was cracked open slightly spilling light out over the worn hall carpet in a shockingly bold red streak. Raoul briefly wondered if he should just turn around but he’d already forced himself to come this far despite how agonizing it was and the thought of going back empty handed was enough incentive for him to slip inside. The place was much the way Raoul remembered it from when he tag along with his uncle, crammed full of tchotchkes from the Old Country and that ash-tray of a ugly woman with comically huge tits flashing her cooch was still on the coffee table. The only thing that seemed off was the unusually sharp, clinical stench of bleach crawling out from underneath that special stink of blunts and stale beer which permeated everything Lenny came into contact with. Little alarms went off in Raoul’s head, telling him that he should turn and RUN.

 

            But he brushed off as a stupid moment of paranoia and, straining to breath normally, he crept slowly to the kitchen. Raoul idly noticed that Lenny’s housekeeping had apparently improved astronomically since the last time he had been there. The counters were clean and clear, sinks empty and even the floor had that sparkling shine he’d only seen in commercials. Maybe the crazy geezer had finally found himself an old lady with a thing for unibrows. Then he noticed a bloody wad of paper-towels hanging out of the garbage.

 

            Before Raoul could react, someone slammed into him from behind and pinned him to the floor. He kicked and squirmed against the guy until he finally managed to catch him in groin with a knee. Taking advantage of his attacker’s sudden loss of interest, Raoul scrambled to his feet and pulled out a switchblade as he took a good look at the guy: a scrawny skinhead in an apron with more holes in his head than brains.

 

            “Who the fuck are you?” he snapped, bracing himself against the table before his leg could give out and send him back down to the floor.

 

            “I should ask you that, shithead!” the skinhead hissed. He hopped up to his feet, getting as far up in Raoul’s face as he could with the knife between them. “What the fuck are you doing creeping around, huh? Trying to rob us or some shit?”

 

            “No. I’m just looking for Lenny. My uncle’s an old buddy of his and I thought he be looking to do a bit of business. Now why don’t you go tell the old goatfucker I’m here?”

 

            “Then why ain’t I ever seen your sorry ass before, huh?” The skinhead licked his lips, not really caring that Raoul could easily stick him in the ribs. “You don’t look like the kind of guy Lenny’d do business with. So why don’t you just fuck off, faggot?”

 

            Raoul’s hand shot up, leaving his knife just grazing the tip of the skinhead’s nose. “Call me that again, motherfucker, and I’ll give you a brand new piercing right in the goddamn neck.”

 

            “Wha’ the hell is goin’ on here?” barked Lenny, appearing like a bad conjuring trick in the doorway. “Sammy, wha’ are yeh doin’?”

 

            “He broke in, Mister Moisis, and I—.”

 

            “So yeh come in and start fightin’ in my house?” grumbled the old man, marching over to them and setting a greasy bag on the table. He shot Raoul a quick glare as he noticed the knife. “Put that damn thing away, boy. I won’t have that goin’ on in my house. Sammy, go make yer-self useful and help Markov’s boy bring in that new soda machine.”

 

            “Yes, Mister Moisis.” The skinhead he slinked away, growling and cursing under his breath.

 

            Lenny shook his shaggy head with a sigh before he bent down for Raoul’s cane. “Now young man, who are yeh and wha’ are yeh doin’ here?”

 

            “Lenny, don’t ya’ remember me? I’m Mitch Alonzo’s nephew.” Raoul gagged a bit at the pungent stink of sesame oil wafting off the cheap take-out, but managed to croak out a few more words. “We gotcha’ that sweet deal on your sister’s car, remember?”

 

            “Raoul?” The old man squinted at him then gave the boy a grin only a dentist could love before  bear hugging him. “Shit, yeh went and grew up on me! Last time I saw yeh, yeh nuthin’ but a skinny lil’ spic brat. Yeh look like yeh’ve actually eaten a real meal or two.” He paused a moment then laughed. “But yer a still a bratty lil’ spic.”

 

            “And you’re still a greasy old goatfucker, I see,” chuckled Raoul as he patted the old man on the back. “How you been, Lenny?”

 

            “Eh, good, good. My niece Cali was just here for a visit. We went and had some nosh with a couple of my associates at this Chinese place…Panda Pagoda, I think. If yeh’d called, I might’ve introduced yeh to her over some coffee. She’s a good gal, seventeen, real smart and real pretty… Cali got the most gorgeous brown eyes you’d ever seen.” He gently elbowed Raoul in the ribs. “And single too. Maybe I give yeh her number, eh?”

 

            “Lenny, I’m sure she’s the loveliest gal in the Tri-state area, but I ain’t here to get a date.”

 

            The old man shrugged. “Worth a shot. So, wha’ yeh lookin’ for? I don’t sell stereos no more, but I can getcha’ in touch with a fella’ on Staten Island.”

 

            “I ain’t sellin’, either. I’m buyin’.”

 

            “No shit?” the old man sat down and fumbled through his shirt pocket with bandaged fingers to fish out a nasty little cigar. “When the hell yeh get money? Last I heard, yeh owed the Geddis’ some serious cash. Sumtin’ ‘bout yeh breakin’ into one of Big Jim’s shops…”

 

            “Yeah, well that…that got sorted out a while ago.”

 

            Lenny raised an eyebrow. “Funny… I heard Jim is still awful sore ‘bout that. And then there’s that thing about his boys getting’ roughed up by those…whatcha’ call ‘em? Them robot aliens guys…”

 

            “Autobots. They’re called Autobots, Lenny.”

 

            “Yeah! Those guys! Heard yeh were real cozy with ‘em.”

 

            Raoul squirmed a bit. “So what? Last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime to have friends…even if they are robots from outer space.”

 

            “Oh, of course it ain’t. I’m just sayin’ that it’s kinda funny yeh took up with this alien fellas right after getting’ in some deep shit with Jim and Phil Geddis.” Lenny paused a moment in thought. “Then again, if I was yeh, I’d do the same. The Geddis brothers did yeh and yer uncle dirty. Mitch took the fall for their boys when they busted that chop shop, yeh both have kept yer mouths shut, and what do they go and do? Stiffed yeh both out of yer cut and threw him to the fuckin’ dogs. Back in my day, the Old Man Geddis took  good care of all his boys, even the niggers… Then those idiot sons of his took over and...” Lenny sighed, reaching out a heavily bandaged hand to pat Raoul’s. “I get why yeh’d want to get even. Doesn’t hurt havin’ some big, scary friends on yer side this time, does it?”

 

            Raoul frowned. “Look Lenny, I didn’t come here for a lecture on ancient history. If you ain’t selling, just say so and I’ll be on my merry way.”

 

            “Wha’ is it with yeh kids today?” Lenny sighed again, shaking his head miserably. “Yeh always gotta rush things, never takin’ time to enjoy a bit of conversation.”

 

            “Yeah, well that ain’t a conversation I want to have today.  I just wanna know if you’ve got any coke left.”

 

            “Yeh can’t keep doin’ this shit, boy,” Lenny grumbled. “I know yeh kids like to take this stuff before yeh go out partying, but it’s the middle of the week! I don’t see nobody comin’ to buy this early unless they got a monkey on their back, yeh follow me?”

 

            “Lenny, you are the last person on Earth that has any right to judge me,” snapped Raoul, then his tone softened. “Look, I’m not tryin’ to be rude. I just don’t wanna talk about that shit right now. Besides, I honestly don’t have time to chat right now. My old man thinks I’m in class right now…”

 

            The old man’s frown deepened. “Yeh ain’t really changed at all, have yeh?”

 

            “It ain’t like that, Lenny. We’re not… He’s…” Raoul paused, then coldly said, “Lenny, he’s more like my warden. ‘Sides, even if I wanted to fuck him, we can’t cause he’s…well, he’s a robot and almost fifty feet tall. And he’s made it very fuckin’ clear that it won’t ever happen... Right now, I just want to be comfortably numb. So, do you have anything left to sell?

 

            “Yeah, I’ve a little left. And, before yeh ask, I’ve still sell speed too.” The old man paused,  lips pursed as he thought something over, then added, “In fact, I just got a whole batch of this new designer stuff from Europe. Really nice, like speed and acid all mixed together but makes yeh fell all happy inside. How much yeh want?”

 

            A grin spread over Raoul’s face as he relaxed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills and a small box. “As much coke as you can give me and enough of that fancy designer shit to fill this bottle up.”

 

            Lenny raised an eyebrow, taking the first bottle from him. “Let’s see, Xanax, 1 mg? ‘Take 3 times a day as needed for anxiety’?” He sat the bottle down and picked up the box, inspecting it with care. “Restoril 15 mg, ‘take before retiring’? Jesus… They must’ve messed ya’ up pretty damn bad?”

 

            “They who?”

 

            “The Geddis’ boys. At least, that’s who they’re sayin’ jumped yer ass. Ain’t they the ones who put yeh in the hospital?”

 

            Raoul blinked at him in surprise. “Really? That’s news to me…”

 

            “Well, who else would want yeh dead?”

 

            Maybe it was the smell of cheap Chinese food or way Lenny rasped his words, but Raoul found himself yank out of Lenny’s kitchen and face down in the dumpster again. He could feel a heavy metal claw pressing down on his back while Buzzsaw tugged and pulled at his jacket, cursing angrily as he tried to use his broken beak. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that smelled like ozone and Raoul was back, sitting at the table with peeling fake wood veneer and Lenny staring at him in concern.

 

            “Yeh okay, son?”

 

            “Uh, yeah,” Raoul muttered, reaching up to brush the phantoms of rotten noodles off his face.

 

            Lenny only nodded sadly, handing the pills back to him as he got up. “Keep those, son. I think yeh might still need ‘em.”           

           

            He didn’t say anything as Lenny left the room and came back a moment later with a battered lunchbox. The old man sat it on the table, then resumed his seat across from the boy.

 

            “This is the last of the blow I have,” Lenny said as he took a couple of vials out of the lunchbox. “I’ll let yeh for twenty and this—” He held up a small packet of pills, hesitating a moment before passing it to Raoul. “This I’m giving to yeh for free. Kind of taste test, yeh know?”

 

            “That’s awfully generous of you, Lenny. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Raoul handed over the money and quickly pocketed the goods. As he got up to leave, the old man grabbed his arm.

 

            “Listen son…” Lenny began, his voice oddly subdued. “Yeh be careful with that stuff. I… I ain’t tried any of it myself and I’m…I’m not sure if they’ll work like that German fella said.”

 

            Raoul tensed, shooting the old man a panicked look. “What German fella?”

 

            “My new…uh, business associate. He and his…his friends were the ones I took out to lunch.” Lenny suddenly glanced down at his bandaged hand. “Look Raoul, I… I want yeh to know that I’ve always thought highly of yeh and yer uncle. I ain’t never had nothin’ bad to say ‘bout either of yeh… But don’t yeh ever come back here again, alright? It’s for yer own good. Nothin’ personal, yeh understand? Just…business.”

 

            “Hey, it’s cool Lenny. I know how it goes.” Raoul reached out and patted the older man’s shoulder. He went over to the counter and poked around till he found a notepad and pen. “Listen, if…if you need any help or just wanna shoot the shit sometime, here’s my number. Just don’t let Tracks—eh, Mister Perlman know that you were in the business, alright?”

 

            “Of course, of course…” Lenny nodded with a smile, but his eyes still seemed sad and distant. “Yeh take care of yerself, Raoul.”

 

            “See you around, Lenny.” On that, Raoul walked out to hallway and, just as he closed the door, he thought he heard the old man start to quietly sob. He limped down the stairs, so wrapped up in his own uneasiness that he nearly ran right into the creeper as he came out of Markov’s Deli.

 

            He stood there, frozen in terror while the creeper just stared. Then, the creeper smiled broadly at him and shoved a little wrapped box into his hand before wandering off into the late lunch crowd. It was only after he’d gotten back to the school that Raoul’s curiosity about the little gift finally got the better of him. He decided to duck into a bathroom and opened the creeper’s present: a freshly severed pinky finger.

 

            And now here they were again, Raoul walking along with his crew and the creeper trailing behind them like goldfish crap. He knew that he should tell Tracks about the little bastard, but...well, then it be over. He'd end up cooped up again in that penthouse prison with the big guy hovering over him like an old Jewish grandma, fussing and futzing and never letting him out on his own again.  And he just couldn’t stand the thought of doing that again…

 

            “Hey! You home, man?” Rocksteady waved a hand in front of his face. “I keep talkin' to you, boy, but you just keep starin' like a zombie!”

 

            “Huh? Oh, sorry... Kind of spaced out there.” He dug into his pocket for the coke vial and did a bump. Then he noticed Pop was kind of looking at him funny. “What? You want some?”

 

            “Uh, no thanks.” He watched Raoul down the pills in silence. They walked along for a moment before Pop finally spoke up. “Raoul, you know you're a friend-hell man, you might as well be my brother-and I really shouldn't say nothing but did you ever think that maybe you're overdoin' it with that shit?” When he didn't get an answer, Pop pressed on. “Look, I know you've been through a lot of shit lately but you oughta cut back on the blow man. I think it's messing with your head...”

 

            “And just why is that? You sayin' I'm a junkie?” Raoul growled.

           

             Pop shifted nervously. “No, I ain't saying that. Sure, getting  wasted and doing some speed and weed on the weekend is one thing but I’ve only seen you doin’ coke like this when Paul was around. This ain't like you, Raoul. You used have your shit together, man.”

 

            “I'm doing just fine, Pop.”

 

            “No, no you're not. Raoul, you are not acting normal. It's like you just shut down or something. You won't talk about what happened that night. Fuck, you hardly talk to anybody about anything anymore. I thought you were our boy. I thought you'd at least trust me and Rocksteady. You know we'd go to hell and back for you. You need to quit acting like everything's fine and that you don't have a problem. Just let it out.”

 

            “Pop's got a point.  Though to be honest, I think you just need to suck it up and...” Rocksteady stopped suddenly when he noticed the creeper strolling along behind them. “Aw, shit. It's that clown again, ain't it?”

 

            “I'd wish he'd just fuck off already,” Pop said quietly. “That guy gives me the creeps.”

 

            “Cheer up, man,” muttered Raoul. “At least he doesn't follow you home...”

 

            “Well, he ain't gonna be followin' anybody when I'm done with him...”  Rocksteady snapped. He started to turn, but Raoul grabbed his arm.

 

            “Don't worry about it,” he growled softly. “I can handle this.”

 

            “You sure? Look, you know we both got your back, man. A guy in your condition shouldn't—”

 

            “I'll take care of it, _Solly_ ,” Raoul snarled, putting emphasis on Rocksteady's real name.

 

            After a short silence, Pop brought up an upcoming battle in Mount Morris and they fell into talking shit about the other crews while hashing out their own plan of attack. By the time they'd decided who to recruit into the crew-because two dancers and a cripple just wouldn't cut it in Harlem-, the subway entrance loomed before them.

 

             Raoul waved good-bye at the top of the stairs, disappearing into the late afternoon commuters. He let the crowd drag him downstairs and through the turnstiles before finally breaking away to duck into the men's room. He limped straight to the last stall, thankful that it was both empty and relatively clean before locking the door. Scrambling up onto the toilet rim, Raoul waited for what seemed like a hundred years until the last guy finished his piss and left.

 

            Barely a second afterward, there was a faint click of the main door locking and the soft pattering of sneakers on tile. He waited, breathless but eager as the creeper working his way down each stall, stopping to check in each one. Finally, the creeper reached the last stall and somehow managed to unlock the door from the outside. Raoul didn't even give him a chance to duck before he swung his cane down and crack the creeper over the head.

 

            The creeper went sprawling onto the floor, glasses clattered over the tile. In one quick motion, Raoul hopped down off the toilet and hauled the creeper up to pin him against the wall. Pain shot through his leg at the sudden action but he ignored it, putting on his best sneer as he whipped out the switchblade he'd managed to hide from Tracks.

 

            “Alright, asshole. You've got ten seconds to tell me what the fuck your deal is!”

 

            “Sumimasen! Sore o shūnō shite kudasai! Kono ore wa anata to hanashitai, ” the creeper babbled at him, head bobbing as much as possible without cutting himself. Suddenly, he began to giggle nervously. “Ochitsuite kudasai. Ore no jōshi wa, boku wa anata ni okurimono o shitai to kangaete imasu.”

 

            “Cut that shit out!” Raoul put the knife right underneath his nose. “Do you see this? I ain't in the mood for this bullshit!”

 

            “ _Honki desu ka? Atama itteru! Omae ikareteru!_ ” snapped the creeper, his giggling taking on a malicious edge. “Te-o dokete-yo! Dare-ni mukatte mono itten-dayo?”

 

            “What the fuck did you just say?”

 

            “Anata wa boku ga anata o shi rikai shite inai?” asked the creeper, glancing up from underneath his hat with a little smile. “Ore no hobākurafuto wa unagi de ippai desu. Temee ga modotte ore no basho hazumu· hazumu ni kite hoshīdesu ka?”

 

            Raoul stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Jesus fucking Christ... Just what I need; a crazy chink tourist...”

 

            The creeper was still smiling but there was a noticeable sharpness to it. “You name Ra-ool Ah-lawn-so, yes?”

 

            “...yeah?” he answered, caught off guard by the fact that the creeper knew his name. His grip loosened slightly as he lowered his knife.“Whatcha want?”

 

            “Here.” The creeper reached into his jacket and held out a packet wrapped in white paper and a red bow with both his hands. The creeper bobbed his head down, almost as if he was embarrassed about handing the little present over.  “For you.”

 

            Raoul just stared at the packet. “What the fuck is in that? You hack off somebody else’s finger?”

 

            “Iie! No yubitusme. For you,” repeated the creeper. When Raoul still wouldn't take it, the creeper added in a mumble, “Very special gift from Destron robot friend.”

 

            “Datsun robot? Is that what you're trying to say?”

 

            “Yes-yes! Special gift!”

 

            Still wary, Raoul took the packet and turned slightly away from the creeper but blocking him from getting to the door. He carefully slit the paper and slipped out a very fat plastic case. Inside it was a business card for something called 'Dios Zero' with a message written on the back and  a bundle of wire with little pads attached to them and ending in a narrow plastic rectangle with a flat metal plug.  His interest peaked, Raoul read the plain typed out words:

            'When they're not watching, plug in and come to me in the land of steel and light.'

 

            “Hey, what the hell is-” He turned and found that the creeper had somehow vanished. He looked around quickly, but there was no possible way that the creeper could have gotten past him without being seen. Finally, Raoul just shrugged, pocketing his knife as he limped to the bathroom door, stopping only to scoop up the creeper's shades and stuffing them into his other pocket along with the 'very special gift'. He went out to the platform and waited for the next train to arrive, not noticing that he was being watched closely by the man in tea-shades and his pretty little redhead.

 

            -------

 

            “He should have been home by now,” murmured Tracks again as he paced around the kitchen wringing his apron in his hands. “Something's happened, I know it!”

 

            “Will you just chill out, babe?” Jazz muttered. He finished off the last of his coffee,  gazing down at the now empty cup sadly. “Boy's just running a little late. Nothing to get excited about.”

 

            “But you just finished telling me that there were Decepticons sighted nearby!” huffed the disguised Autobot angrily.

 

            Jazz sighed, pointedly holding his cup up as he spoke. “No, I said there had been signs that the 'cons were active around Chicago recently. Nothing definite and nowhere near New York, so just calm down. Nothing that can't wait till we have our little chat with Prowl and the others.”

 

            “It's still too close for comfort,” Tracks grumbled, ignoring Jazz wiggling his cup impatiently. “And just why would Prowl be so keen on a meeting if there wasn't something serious afoot?”

 

            “Because he's _Prowl_. Status updates are something he'd ask for eventually. All you need to tell him are things like how Raoul is doing and that everything is 'all clear'. Once he's satisfied, Prowl will get us up to speed on what the current situation on the East Coast. I told you it's nothing serious, so just chill out. Now how about giving me more of that wonderful coffee, pretty please oh darling dear?”

 

            Tracks frowned and reluctantly poured him another cup. “You do realize that overindulging in this substance could cause issue with the holo-nanites, right?”

 

            “Yeah, yeah... Still, it's the closest human food that compares to nitrous I've found yet,” purred Jazz as he happily sipped his coffee.

 

            “You and your nitrous...” Tracks muttered as he finished washing the last of the dishes. “Some days, I wonder which you love more...”

 

            “Ah hell...” Jazz got up and went over to Tracks, wrapping his arms around Tracks waist. “You know that I love—”

 

            “Hey, big guy! I'm home!” Raoul barked as he hobbled through the door.

 

            Tracks ran over to him and scooped the boy up into a tight hug. “Thank the lord! I've been worried half to death!”

 

            “Jesus, Tracks! Easy up or you're gonna crack my ribs...”

 

            “...sorry.” He loosened his grip slightly, but still held Raoul close. He nuzzled the boy's neck, enjoying the feeling of rough hair against his cheek while noting smell of sweat and heavy smoking that lingered on him. “But I've told you a thousand times to call me if you're going to be late.

 

            “I know, I know...” Raoul sighed quietly as he cuddled closer. “I just lost track of time and missed my train.”

 

            There was a soft cough from the couch. “Um, I hate to break this up but don't you and Jazz have a debriefing to go to?”

 

            Tracks stiffened and drew away from Raoul quickly. “Thank you, Rewind.”  His tone was icy as he shot a glare from the meek looking young man now standing next to a grinning Jazz.

 

            “Prowl can wait a bit,” chuckled the saboteur as he lazily drank his coffee. “Nice to see you again, babe. You remember Rewind and Eject, right?”

 

            “Uh, yeah. Hi guys,” Raoul muttered, edging slightly away from Tracks in embarrassment. “You guys have those hologram things too?”

 

            “Yeah, but these are still in the experimental stages.” Rewind murmured. Despite looking like any other basement dwelling little momma's boy Raoul had seen, there was something slightly off about the way he moved that made him seem even creepier. “We've gotten most of the kinks worked out for the miniaturized holo-projection unit, but there's still some oddities in motions as you've probably noticed by now.”

 

            “I haven't noticed humans responding to anything weird,” chirped a girlish voice.

 

            Up off the couch bounced the kind of girl Raoul had only seen smiling from between the pages of a Penthouse centerfold. Her tiny little cut-off tee was threatening to show off more than just the Giants' logo as she bounded over to Rewind's side.

 

            “All the people we've encountered so far have been extremely friendly and I’ve not at any of them disturbed by our holos. In fact, both the doormen and that young man at the front desk went out of their way to help when we came in. There was even a guy on the elevator that wanted to take me out to see a movie,” she chirped between smacks on her gum. “I'd say these holo-forms are working just fine.”

 

            Tracks frowned at her. “Eject, I hate to break this to you but I'm afraid your positive experiences so far are caused by a certain... bias on the part of most human males you've encountered.”

 

            “Holy shit!” Raoul gaped at them. “Eject?! You're really a smoking hot babe?”

 

            Eject just smiled. “Nah. I'm male. But these 'boob' things sounded interesting, so I decided to try out being a human femme. Did I do a good job picking out a holo? It's based off a model called Venice Kong.”

 

            Tracks' frown deepened. “She wouldn't happen to be one of those 'models' Sunstreaker picked out, would she?”

 

            “Eh, well...” Eject coughed nervously. “Sunny did say that she was a Playmate centerfold. From my data, it's a very popular photo publication so I'm sure he picked this design to meet up with the most artistic of human standards.”

 

            “Oh, trust me...you're a work of fucking art,” muttered Raoul as he leered at Eject's holo. “Now I ain't gay so don't take this the wrong way man, but I'd love to help you test that body out, if you know what I mean.”

 

            Eject just smiled cheerfully at him. “Thanks! Percy's been wanting some more data on the holos, so maybe you and I could-”

 

            “No.” Tracks slide between her and Raoul, glaring at the disguised cassette. “I will remind you, little one, that you're both under the age of consent. And I will not tolerate that kind of behavior under this roof.”

 

            Eject pouted up at him. “But Tracks, it's for science! And, if you want to get technical about it, Raoul and I are both roughly the same age, so...”

           

            “I will **not** repeat myself,” he grumbled with that fatherly tone of disapproval Raoul had learned to dread. “None of you are to take any part in _that_ kind of experimentation for any reason. Is that clear?”

 

            “...yes sir...” muttered Eject as she slinked back to the couch to sulk.

 

            “Aw, don't be so hard on the youngin', babe,” murmured Jazz as he slid up behind Raoul and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist. “They're just kids, you know? And kids are gonna fool around. Don't you recall when you were...” Jazz suddenly stopped when he noticed the vaguely horrified look on Tracks' face. “Uh, okay. Bad example...”

 

            “If Preceptor is so keen on getting such data, than he can get it himself.” hissed Track in a tone so cold it could have frozen a nuclear reactor.  His expression softened as he turned his attention to Raoul. “We really must be going if we don't want to be late for the meeting. I shouldn't be gone for long, but in case I'm late getting back there's some dinner for you in the oven. Do you need me to pick you up anything while we're out?”

 

            “...noooh...” chuckled the boy while Jazz nuzzled his neck and played with his ponytail. There was a faint growl from Tracks which caused the saboteur to let him go much to Raoul's disappointment. “See you guys when you get home.”

 

            Jazz was just about to follow Tracks out the door when he paused. “Wait! I almost forgot something...”

 

            Grinning madly, he darted forward and scooped Raoul up into a startlingly passionate kiss. He broke off the embrace just as quickly and smirked. “I'm been wanting to do that for _months_!”

 

            Expression going for shock to fury, Tracks snapped something in Cybertronian while the cassettes just snickered.

 

            “I love you too, darling dear!” Jazz cackled before cutting off his holo, leaving a fallen heap of clothes and his shades on the floor.

 

            Raoul stared at it in mild confusion, still taken off guard by the sudden outburst of affection. “...what hell was that about?”

 

            “It's just Jazz being...Jazz,” growled Tracks, coming up to the boy and putting an arm around him. “I wouldn't take it seriously if I were you.”

 

            “But he kissed me... With tongue...”

 

            “Don't think too hard about it,” Tracks grumbled. “He probably thought it was funny. Jazz has an...odd sense of humor...”

 

            “...right.” He blinked up at the quietly fuming Corvette. “By the way, why did you call him a monkey spanker?” He paused a second, then smiled. “I mean, he did cop a feel, but-”

 

            “Actually, that's his name,” chirped Rewind. “Eh, well... Munka Spanka closest approximation of his real name that is possible with human vocal cords. It's really very difficult for you guys to says our names so we use codenames to make it easier on you.”

 

            “For real? I thought those were your names!”

           

            “Nope!” Rewind hopped off the couch excitedly. “We all use pseudonyms or nicknames.”

 

            “So how do you guys pick?”

           

            “Oh, it's actually a very interesting process but a little complicated to explain... Do you have that Teletraan unit handy? She might be able to simplify things...”

 

            “Tandy's in my room.” Raoul pointed out the door and watched Rewind scamper off happily.

 

            “Well, things seem to be back to normal,” hummed Tracks, now smiling warmly as he slid an arm around the boy's shoulders. “Promise me you won't give Rewind a hard time. He tends to get... excited sometimes.”

 

            “I'll behave...” he muttered. When Tracks started to pull away, Raoul caught hold of his arm. “Hey! Aren't you gonna kiss me good bye too?”

 

            He hesitated, then quickly planted a very chaste peck on Raoul's cheek. “There! Now I really have to run. I will call you if we're going to be late.”

 

            “See you later, big guy,” sighed Raoul not bothering to hide his disappointment as Tracks hurried out the door.

 

* * *

           

 


End file.
